Okay, so I’ve mentioned a few thousand times that my ‘idea of cooking‘ is either making reservations in a five star restaurant, or, finding somewhere that will deliver the food already prepared to my door step.
Because this is what happened…
However, in the interest of my relationship, I decided to be brave. I decided to be bold. I was going to cook dinner for him. Even if it meant that would be ‘The End Of The World’ as we know it.
How hard could this be anyway?
*Collective Gulp Heard Round The World*
First, let me start by saying, thank you to my girlfriend Tiffany who has personally cooked me many a meals to absolute perfection. I cannot thank you enough for the recipe.
Speaking Of The Recipe.
I have not been grocery shopping in over a year. [Thanks to the fact that I live with my parents. They deal with all of that noise.] But there I was. Off I went to gather the necessary ingredients at my local Wegmans. (The best grocery store other than Trader Joe’s.)
Upon arrival, it took at least 25 minuets to simply to locate the toothpicks. But it wasn’t until I landed myself a sweet spot at the cold-cut counter where things went awry. I was minding my own business waiting to order half a pound of provolone when I felt EXACTLY like Michael Keaton in the movie Mr. Mom during the Deli Counter Scene. (Only with lady parts.) I did not realize that you actually need to get a ticket/number and wait for it to be called. All I can say is, “My bad” to the lady I cut off in line who continued to give me the evil eye until I hightailed it out of there.
After momentarily sweating from sheer embarrassment, I regained my composure and continued on with my check list.
Two. Full. Hours. Later...
I had everything I needed. Now, all I had to do was cook it.
*shudder*
When I began to unload my materials, I noticed the chicken seemed thicker than it normally does when Tiffany makes it. Instead of calling anyone who so graciously offered to help me, I diligently proceeded alone. I just closed my eyes and listened to my Inner Italian. I was committed to making a fantastic meal: Chicken, rolled up and stuffed with prosciutto, provolone, and very thin asparagus, covered in a lemon wine sauce, placed lovingly over mushroom risotto.
Yeah. Um.
While prepping all of the food I learned a fun fact that I’d like to share with all the other non-cooking clueless people. Unbleached flour mixed with olive oil sitting in the kitchen sink for an excessive amount of time will in fact convert into Sumo Gorilla Glue. *Brillo May Be Required* for removal of such substances.
Your welcome.
Oh.
And…
Do not attempt to write your blog post while making risotto. Risotto requires your undivided attention. I cannot stress this enough. Be forewarned. Otherwise you will get a steaming hot plate of nasty. Which can and will adhere itself to any surface. Especially the pot it was made in. *Brillo Is 100% Required* for removal of such a substance.
[Side Bar: Note to self, remember to add *Brillo* to any future shopping check-lists.]
Speaking Of Risotto.
After I totally ruined the first batch and with little time remaining on the clock before my boyfriend entered the house – I remembered I had also bought a box of Instant Risotto.
Because nothing says ‘chef’ quite like Instant Food Products.
After meticulously stirring, tasting, stirring, and slowly adding water…there was just enough risotto which had a semi-decent texture and semi-decent taste to salvage.
*Imagine me raising my glass and toasting, “Hooray For All Food – That Comes In A Box“*
As I was utterly engrossed with the desperate situation of the risotto, I neglected to turn the heat down on the chicken in the oven. I was too distracted.
Prior to the ‘Risotto Incident’ I was obsessively checking on the chicken. I mean, I wasn’t used to such thick slices. And all I could think as I peered inside the oven was…
Is this done yet?
Or.
ARE WE ALL GUNNA DIE FROM SALMONELLA POISONING?
As I contemplated spiking the food with crushed immodium, my attention was redirected back to the risotto.
Anyway.
Long Story Short? [Too Late.]
When the guy I am dating walked into the house the first thing he said was, “Wow. It smells so good in here.”
I smiled nervously having NOT tasted the finished chicken and was still praying the risotto did not spontaneously turn into mortar.
Fortunately, for me, he likes to get comfortable after a hard days work before settling down to eat. That afforded me the perfect amount of time to taste (and plate) the meal.
After a mere three minuets, three minuets that felt like 100 hours, I manged to wrangle up all of the dishes and cooking utensils, rinse them, place them neatly in the dishwasher, take out the trash, wash my hands, plate the food, salt to taste, and sprinkle with fresh grated cheese.
My boyfriend entered the room and was immediately enamored with my Kitchen Skillz.
He said and I quote verbatim:
” Take A Picture Of This. That Looks Like It Came From A Restaurant. Wow. This dinner looks “MINT.”
[Insert me sweating perfusively (or like Patrick Ewing in the 4th Quarter of a basketball game) as he had not taken a bite yet. Yes, my presentation was decent. But, would he like how it tasted? And I thought for sure the chicken was too dry.]
As I was filled with tense anticipation, he took his first bite.
And LOVED IT.
Loved.
Loved.
LOVED it.
*There just maybe a cook somewhere inside of me after all.*
