Our family is notedly anti-social. I can remember having company over maybe 5 times in my entire life. That's not to say we don't eat at other people's houses, but there appears to be something about our own domain that scares people off- besides the alleged man(or 11 year old girl...*cough*)-eating dog. No, I suspect it has something to do with the Chicken and Dumplings Incident...
Quite a while ago, we were about to have some of mom's friends from work over. I was about 6 or so (or younger), and "helping" mummy in the kitchen. Well, one of mom's caveat dishes is a fantastic Chicken and Dumplings, and she was bustling away in the kitchen, chopping this, dicing that, amply tossing cubed chicken into the alluring broth sending delectable smelling steam above the pot.
She was very excited and had the television on, glancing at that every once and a while, only slipping up and slicing her finger moderately deeply when she got distracted keeping me out of trouble (like not tossing my stuffed bear into the pot, tossing the dog's toy into the pot, tipping the pot over atop myself...). She amply shook spices and herbs into the bowl, making sure to get just the right amount, and of only the least spicy, as to not upset our spice-detesting guests. Flamboyantly stirring her delicious concoction, she looked like something straight off of Iron Chef, or Julia Childs reincarnated. It was mildly eerie, but quite impressive.
After showily dipping the (clean) tablespoon into the simmering pot of Utter Liquid Joy and tasting said liquid, she pursed her lips, mumbles of "could use some pepper" softly under her breath. As we live out in the middle of nowhere, we buy all of our food in large bulk quantities- in other words, from Costco. All of our meat, vegetables, dried foods, etc, come in packages of about 17. Thus, our pepper container is about 2.5 pounds in total weight.
As she carefully tipped the large container over the pot, humming quietly to herself, she glanced over her shoulder, to see me attempting to give the cat a bath in the dog's water dish. She quietly (quietly in comparison to a 8.2 earthquake, I mean- everything is relative) reprimanded me for torturing the poor old man (I presume that weakened his defenses, causing him to die several years later, the shock submerging in ice cold water by a 6 year old took years off his life) and suddenly got a very strange look on her face. It was a look I have only seen represented once, on stone- The Thinker, I believe it was.
Her eyebrows wrinkled a bit in the middle, and her mouth came up with this odd little pout. She ever so slowly turned back and looked at the container in her hand, eyes not quite registering the empty container in her hand.
How on earth could it be empty- it was a brand new bottle, after all!
Then she saw that it didn't have the shaker-filter, it was simply an open mouthed bottle.
She looked to the floor, to see if possibly it had spilled, because she had been a mite too exuberant while scolding me. She glanced all around the stove top, even looking up to see if she had possibly tossed it up into the hood of the oven- but alas, nothing.
Finally, she took the ultimatum.
She looked down, down into the pot, once bubbling joyously, as though it knew it contained a meal that would make Emril Legosy (or whatever his name is) weak at the knees, now silent.
There, entirely covering the beautiful golden brown, perfectly formed dumplings, was a mountain. A granite Mount Everest, made entirely of pepper. Around the sides the broth still bubbled, in a pathetic attempt to cheer her up, but being unsuccessful, as the sent of pepper overpowered it, and the fact that it just looked now rather like yellow lava bubbling about didn't quite accomplish the intended effect.
Do you know how difficult it is to scrape damp, chicken-y pepper out of a pot of chicken and dumplings?
She deserves a badge of honor, really.
As I remember it, we never were able to restore the dumplings to their original glory. Stained black with the spice, they really lost their appeal, and after making several noble attempts to swallow them, they were ultimately tossed.
The guests never came back.
(This story has been 87% true, and only slightly exaggerated)
(But I'm pretty sure word got around that we were deranged Cajuns trying to poison all those that belonged to the ani-pepper persuasion, which caused the stop to our social lives)
Moral of the story:
Don't leave the cat loose around your child when cooking chicken and dumplings. Especially not when you have the pepper in your hand.
Quite a while ago, we were about to have some of mom's friends from work over. I was about 6 or so (or younger), and "helping" mummy in the kitchen. Well, one of mom's caveat dishes is a fantastic Chicken and Dumplings, and she was bustling away in the kitchen, chopping this, dicing that, amply tossing cubed chicken into the alluring broth sending delectable smelling steam above the pot.
She was very excited and had the television on, glancing at that every once and a while, only slipping up and slicing her finger moderately deeply when she got distracted keeping me out of trouble (like not tossing my stuffed bear into the pot, tossing the dog's toy into the pot, tipping the pot over atop myself...). She amply shook spices and herbs into the bowl, making sure to get just the right amount, and of only the least spicy, as to not upset our spice-detesting guests. Flamboyantly stirring her delicious concoction, she looked like something straight off of Iron Chef, or Julia Childs reincarnated. It was mildly eerie, but quite impressive.
After showily dipping the (clean) tablespoon into the simmering pot of Utter Liquid Joy and tasting said liquid, she pursed her lips, mumbles of "could use some pepper" softly under her breath. As we live out in the middle of nowhere, we buy all of our food in large bulk quantities- in other words, from Costco. All of our meat, vegetables, dried foods, etc, come in packages of about 17. Thus, our pepper container is about 2.5 pounds in total weight.
As she carefully tipped the large container over the pot, humming quietly to herself, she glanced over her shoulder, to see me attempting to give the cat a bath in the dog's water dish. She quietly (quietly in comparison to a 8.2 earthquake, I mean- everything is relative) reprimanded me for torturing the poor old man (I presume that weakened his defenses, causing him to die several years later, the shock submerging in ice cold water by a 6 year old took years off his life) and suddenly got a very strange look on her face. It was a look I have only seen represented once, on stone- The Thinker, I believe it was.
Her eyebrows wrinkled a bit in the middle, and her mouth came up with this odd little pout. She ever so slowly turned back and looked at the container in her hand, eyes not quite registering the empty container in her hand.
How on earth could it be empty- it was a brand new bottle, after all!
Then she saw that it didn't have the shaker-filter, it was simply an open mouthed bottle.
She looked to the floor, to see if possibly it had spilled, because she had been a mite too exuberant while scolding me. She glanced all around the stove top, even looking up to see if she had possibly tossed it up into the hood of the oven- but alas, nothing.
Finally, she took the ultimatum.
She looked down, down into the pot, once bubbling joyously, as though it knew it contained a meal that would make Emril Legosy (or whatever his name is) weak at the knees, now silent.
There, entirely covering the beautiful golden brown, perfectly formed dumplings, was a mountain. A granite Mount Everest, made entirely of pepper. Around the sides the broth still bubbled, in a pathetic attempt to cheer her up, but being unsuccessful, as the sent of pepper overpowered it, and the fact that it just looked now rather like yellow lava bubbling about didn't quite accomplish the intended effect.
Do you know how difficult it is to scrape damp, chicken-y pepper out of a pot of chicken and dumplings?
She deserves a badge of honor, really.
As I remember it, we never were able to restore the dumplings to their original glory. Stained black with the spice, they really lost their appeal, and after making several noble attempts to swallow them, they were ultimately tossed.
The guests never came back.
(This story has been 87% true, and only slightly exaggerated)
(But I'm pretty sure word got around that we were deranged Cajuns trying to poison all those that belonged to the ani-pepper persuasion, which caused the stop to our social lives)
Moral of the story:
Don't leave the cat loose around your child when cooking chicken and dumplings. Especially not when you have the pepper in your hand.
