I Walked Away

Why, oh, for the love of good cooks everywhere, do I find it necessary to pick up a deep pan or skillet, a large plastic spoon and various measuring tools, in an attempt to concoct something edible?

Do I enjoy listening to the smoke alarms drill through the house? Is there humor in the cat taking cover in the basement or the dog barking shrilly, endlessly? Do I get a kick out of my kids walking into the kitchen, noses pinched, brows furrowed and inquiring, "What's burning, mommy?"

Is it really that possible to be so bad at cooking that water boiling on the stove will cry out, "Help me, help me!" (And yes, if you are imagining Al Hedison's shrill, tiny voice in the original 1958 movie, 'The Fly' as he's about to be devoured by a large spider, than we are on the same page!)

Call it tenacity, call it, "I am not about to order pizza, again!" or even call it "Cooking Out of Sheer Boredom". Whichever or whatever it may be, however hard I may try, the jury has long since reached its verdict - I CANNOT cook.

Case in point my attempt at making a meal of hamburger and rice. I admit, I knew better than to use standard rice as opposed to the recipe's call for "Minute" rice. My rationality was to simply cook it longer. Sounds reasonable, doesn't it? Oh, sure I should have gone with that first reservation, that little Hedison voice screeching at the back of my mind that I should cook everything separately before teaming it up in one pot.

First inclinations such as those, assumptions all too easily ignored, deserves every bit of attention, but no, I plow straight into the landmine filled field of my own makings and the ensuing disaster was inevitable and inedible. Rice woefully undone, hamburger well beyond done.

If I could just get by with baking for the rest of my life, there wouldn't be a problem. But sooner or later all those chocolate chip cookies, cakes, pies and cupcakes would catch up with our family of four. In one ugly form or another; whether the results would be completely rotten teeth or bellies hanging down to our kneecaps, it simply wouldn't be pretty.

So after standing in my lovely kitchen for several minutes this morning, riffling through various breakfast recipes, the cat looking nervous, the dog carrying the fire extinguisher about his neck and my munchkins already holding their noses; I put down the spatula, returned the frying pan to the cupboard and stuck my tongue out at the hub as he tried to hide his laughter.

I did the world a favor, at least for today, I walked away.

Originally published in the Daily Advocate Dec. 2007

Bethany J. Royer-DeLong is currently entrenched at home fighting the good war against the gimmes and the I-don't-wannas. She blogs recklessly, as all mothers of children under the age of six should, and has been working on that "supposed" great American novel, times a dozen. You can visit her at motherofthemunchkins.blogspot.com and email her at broyerdelong@yahoo.com