The Marinating Napkin

Asked my wife to marinade the defrosted chicken for tomorrow. I told her to put it in a vacuum seal bag, press the air out with her hand, then seal the bag. I told her not to use the vacuum part and to just seal it since the meat is already defrosted. 

I get home and look into fridge and see this.... 

Me: "Uummmm....what. In the hell. Is that?"

H: "it's chicken with lemon pepper seasoning and blueberry juice."

 

Me: "I see. But what is that?" And I point to the funky texture thing. 

 

H: "Oh That! It's lemon pepper."  

 

Me, pointing again at the dark purple textured thing on top of the chicken: "No, no it's not. What is this thing???? Inside the bag on the chicken..."

 

H: "Oh. Well I put juice in."  

 

I looked at her. I looked back at chicken. I looked back at her. She looked at me quizzically, as if I'm speaking something foreign. I looked back at the chicken and poked the bag.

Me: "Is this a paper towel??" 

H:"Oh that! Yes. I tried to copy what you do so the vacuum sealer doesn't suck up the chicken juice."

Me: "I see." Although I didn't really see. "So does that mean you tried to actually vacuum seal it even though I said to just seal it?" 

She nodded. 

Me: "So you poured juice into a bag then thought that somehow you would be able to suck out all the air without sucking the juice out?"

 

H: "Yeah. It didn't work. It made a mess."

Me: "Yes. I imagine so. This trick only works if it's meat more than half frozen and it's just to absorb any minute amount of blood before it reaches the sealer. It won't work if you pour juice into a bag."

H: "Oh. I guess I should've just followed directions, huh?"

That was when it hit her that she was basically just marinating a paper towel with our chicken for dinner. 

By the way, I don't really suggest marinading chicken in blueberry juice and lemon pepper --- it just tasted really weird.

Pot Pie Fumbles

In previous posts, I have made it fairly clear that H is still in the “learning how to cook” phase of life. While she has improved dramatically over the years, it’s still tough to forget so many of the early errors.

A few years back, she was preparing to cook a frozen Marie Callendar’s Pot Pie. Now some of you may know that the directions specify that you need to put foil around the edges so that the crust doesn’t burn. H has this belief that directions don’t apply to her.

Attempt 1:

She put the pot pie into the oven with no foil on the edges. I asked her, “Aren’t you going to put the foil on the edges?” She said, “No, that’s dumb, it’ll be fine.” 65 minutes later (that’s how long it takes to cook those bad boys), she pulled out a very darkly burnt pot pie. She growled out the eff word and threw it away. I giggled out an “I told you so.”

Attempt 2:

She pulls out pot pie #2 from the freezer and smacks it on the counter. She grabs the foil and slams it on the counter. She then pulls out a rather large sheet of foil and places it over the top of the entire pot pie, even wrapping it around the bottom. I stated, “You realize it’s only supposed to go around the edges, right?” She again said, “It’s fine. they wanted foil, there’s foil.” I grinned and watched as she put it in the oven and reset the timer. 65 minutes later, she pulled out a pot pie that had perfectly cooked edges and was completely raw in the middle. She again growled, this time spitting out more expletives. She glared at me and said, “Don’t even say a word.” I raised my eyebrow and opened my mouth to speak before changing my mind and just shaking my head with a smirk. She put it back in the oven without the foil for another 20 minutes. When the timer went off, she reached in and pulled out a pot pie that was now cooked in the middle but completely burnt everywhere else. She glared at me again and I said, “Why don’t you just follow the directions?” I was the receiver of a few curse words as she picked the pot pie up and smashed it into the trashcan.

Attempt 3 (Yes, seriously, this is on the same day):

H pulls our last pot pie out of the freezer. This was supposed to be mine but at this point, I just gave up on the fact. She takes the pot pie out of the box and places it on the cookie sheet. She then flipped the box over and looked at the directions (finally!). A few moments pass and she looks at me confused. “I only put it on the edges?” I nodded. She muttered, “Why didn’t you just tell me that in the beginning?” My response was laughter but I still said nothing. This time, she actually followed the directions. 65 minutes later, she pulled a perfectly cooked pot pie.

Moral of the story: When all else fails, read the directions -- especially before you have wasted 195 minutes for one single pot pie.

Seriously, I can’t make this stuff up!

Evidential Findings

H and I had a discussion the other day on how anyone can find evidence on anything they wanted. She presented a challenge by stating she wanted me to present evidence that cats were speaking in English. I accepted the challenge.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: "Have you ever spoken to someone from Britain?"
H: "Yes"
Me: "Do you understand every single word they say?"
H: "Not when they use slang or if they have accents."
Me: "So when they use slang do you still believe it is English?"
H: "Well, yes."
Me: "Okay, and when they talk fast with accents, do you always understand them?"
H: "No."
Me: "Just to be clear, am I understanding that even though you don't always understand what someone from Britain says to you, you still consider it to be English?"

H is now looking at me with narrowed eyes.

H: "Well, yeah..."
Me (smiling): "So how do you know that cats are not speaking English with a heavy accent that you just can't understand?"

She called me an ass