Monday, June 15, 2009

A day that will go down in infamy

The one thing I've always known about myself is that I'm a lousy cook. Even my builder told the kitchen planner when we were building a house that the only reason there was to be a kitchen in my house was because it was city code.

My daughter tells stories of burnt dinners, and I even have a picture of the sorry looking apple pie I made her for her birthday one year. There was a saying in our house: Dinner's ready when the smoke alarm goes off.

My mother tried when I was a kid to introduce me to kitchen experiences, but it just didn't take. When she would call my brothers and dad to the table, invariably one of my brothers would ask who cooked the meal. When mom said it was me, there was a mass of grumblings to the effect of: Then I'm not eating.

So, just how did I end up working in a tea shop kitchen this year after moving to McKinney, Texas? God only knows. I did ask for new experiences. Well, this one is so far-fetched that it's unfathomable. However, I did an amazing thing on Saturday. Amazing's not even the right word for it. I'm not sure the correct word has been invented yet.

I did all the prep work, cooking, baking, and cleaning for 15 people by myself. The owner's out of town and all her usual help was unavailable. I did it all. I took a picture of the salads I made when we thought the count was 22 (only 15 showed up). That's why I made the extra homemade blueberry scones and the massive amount of homemade clotted cream. I could live off clotted cream. If you haven't had any, I will personally fix a fresh batch and have you over because any excuse to eat clotted cream is a great one. I also can hardly eat it without thinking what exceptional ways it could be used on a man -- something we'd both enjoy immensely.

Okay, back to food. My mind travels so easily to sex. It takes no coersion on anyone's part. I just love to think about it, and lately there have been daily emails to a certain someone in Steamboat that have most certainly exploded in cyberspace.

Okay, now really back to food. So, I made 22 salads, 13 chicken salad sandwiches, 2 tuna salad sandwiches, scones, and clotted cream. I put garnishes on the sandwich plates with red peppers, cucumber slices, and grapes. I don't garnish anything that has to do with food, so for me to even think about doing that was nothing short of miraculous.

I kept up with every single course very easily, kept the kitchen clean, all the dishes washed as soon as they came in, and after the party left, all that I had to do was mop the floor and put food in containers. Oh my god, I was a kitchen goddess like none other. I could leap tall buildings in a single bound if only I had wanted to.

I wear this white apron that I dearly love. I love wearing it so much that I wore it to my friend's house afterwards where I served her clotted cream, lemon curd, blueberry scones, and iced tea. It was decadent. And I did it all by myself. I did it. I did it. I did it. It flowed so smoothly and everything got done perfectly. I felt like a Nobel Peace Prize winner, like I'd won an Oscar. I was that good in the kitchen on Saturday. It was a stunning day to remember, a great one to record in infamy. This will go down in history books, right up there with FDR's New Deal, JFK's inauguration, and Seinfeld's show about nothing.

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