The sewing machine we drove twenty-one hours north…you know, the “it’s only a sewing machine for crying out loud” sewing machine. It doesn’t work after all. To FringeMan’s credit, he did not say a word. Not. A. Word. He did do some head shaking, but really, that’s to be expected.
In an effort to burn off our syrup laden pancakes, FringeKid and I went for a walk this morning. We happened upon a yard sale and my resident Diva zeroed in on some pretty fancy-shmancy shoes. They were a dollar and a dream, so she brought them home. Her daddy will not like them, but she won’t even leave the house wearing these bad boys. She cannot possible walk that far in two inch wedges. Just getting across the living room is like watching a tightrope walker suspended at three thousand feet, only the tightrope walker has more balance.
Despite starting a fire on my stove last night, I managed to pull off a wonderful meal, if I do say so myself. I made this crock-pot chicken, only I put it in a pan and broiled it for a few minutes to brown the skin. When I pulled the plucked and feathered bird from the plastic package, I was stumped.
“Which side is up?” I asked my daughter.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, check the picture on the computer!”
I cannot cook without pictures. I may not be a visual learner, but I am a visual cooker. And, yes, I have roasted a chicken before, why do you ask?
Finally, I thought I had the anatomy of the chicken in the correct direction, but I soon realized they put that little popper (the one that tells you the chicken is cooked) on the wrong end. It was upside down, resting on the bottom of the crock-pot. So I said a few words about the silly workers in the Purdue plant and pulled the plug on the chicken. I’d be the one to determine when it was cooked, not the little stopper.
Wouldn’t you know, the people at Purdue were right all along. I roasted the chicken breast side down. Go figure.
I wish I could say that and the fire are the worst mistakes I’ve ever made in the kitchen, but they are not. There was the time I baked bread with whole cloves, the time I had a such a good fire going that the flames reached the ceiling, and then there was the now infamous fish-stick casserole. One day I’ll let FringeMan tell you about that. It is his favorite story.
Despite it all, I gave the chicken a spice rubdown and we ate a lovely dinner complete with green beans and smashed potatoes. Freshly baked, zucchini bread for dessert. Recipe HERE.
My son just traded a Lego horse for a wooden hand-held back massager. He came and rubbed my back. I love that kid.
And now, I have no more things to say.
What’s your “one-more thing” today?