Cooking is near and dear to my heart — only because of the close proximity of my heart to my stomach. If I could find a satisfying substitute, I’d take it.
My goal is simple — edible results in the least time possible, producing a single load or less of dirty dishes. In this whole cooking process, guilt sneaks in. I would never serve Stouffer’s lasagna to my family or buy a pre-fab pie crust. So I’m forced to a little side stepping to lessen the pain of this time-consuming, disaster-producing activity.
The only rule I keep is to wash my hands. You’ll soon understand the importance of this rule.
Here’s where I skimp – bowls, pots, and utensils. If the recipe says, sauté the meat, then add to the sauce you’ve cooked in a separate pot, I might just have sautéed the meat, drained it, and then dumped and cooked the sauce in the same fry pan with the meat.
If the recipe says to beat the eggs in a separate bowl, I just may break them in the cake batter and yep, one less dirty bowl. If a shell happens to fall in, oh, well. Simply tell the family it’s a special chocolate crunch recipe.
If the recipe calls for ½ cup of flour, I may just grab a handful and… I read on some diet I once tried that a fistful is equal to a half cup.
A teaspoon of vanilla is almost a capful. A teaspoon of salt is a little clump in the palm of my hand. Two tablespoons of tomato paste is equal to what comes out on the three fingers I can fit in the open can. Hands and fingers are God-given cooking utensils — great for cutting shortening into the flour for pie crusts, flinging Ricotta cheese onto lasagna, and mixing ingredients for meatloaf. And an index finger is handy (and fun) when used to taste if whipped cream is sweet enough.
If one of those squirmy little carrots has popped off the counter while slicing, and it’s visible, I pick it up and give it a rinse (or at least say I did). If it didn’t violate the ten second floor rule, and I just scrubbed the floor yesterday (or was that last week?), it’s in the stew.
If I need to cream tomatoes for the soup, I may pour the contents of the pot directly into the blender. If this happens and some tomato puree accidentally splashes on my blouse, I may pull my blouse out from my body as much as physically possible and slip it under a running faucet while I’m still in it. I may scrub the spots between my two thumbs with a little dishwashing detergent. Then I’ll rinse it, and wring it out as best I can. I just may tear off a couple of paper towels double them up and stick them between my skin and the drenched top.
Dinner, anyone?
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Hmmmmmmmm, I’m thinking I’ll wait to come when you make the Stouffer’s Lasagna!
I thought those were things we never said aloud or admitted! Still laughing!
Remember I said “might” do.
Is it the, “cooking” you don’t like or the, “Following the directions?”
Ah-h-h, you know me well. Probably “the directions” part, because you know I like the “eating” part.
I think Emeril cooks like this.