I don't know anything about cooking. I think I've mentioned this before. Well, I know less about baking. Part of the reason is that I'm not a woman. I deal with grills. Stove tops. BBQ's. Man stuff.
I'm baking for the first time. A piece of chicken (that I marinaded in bourbon, teriyaki sauce, some cumin and mustard) and a sweet potato.
I've never baked either. But I thought I'd give it a shot.
Anyways, it occurred to me, right away that I don't know how to do two things:
1) How you preheat an oven. I turned the oven on and left it for like fifteen minutes. I think that's good enough, right? Right?
2) What the difference is between bake and broil. Those are the two settings. I put mine on bake. Though, in hindsight, that may've been the wrong decision. Baking is for brownies and shit right?
I started to bake and in the meantime, began to clean my stove top. I noticed that it was getting really hot. Is this normal? It was like, if I left my hand on the stovetop, it would get burned hot. I IM'ed a friend who said it should be okay. But I still have these visions of my stovetop catching on fire and then my room burning down. Needless to say, I'm glancing back at my stove top every few minutes.
The End.
Monday, May 30, 2011
My Impressive Rack
I was at Kunsan only a few weeks when I decided I needed to make a change. A noticeable change. I thought it would improve my self esteem. I thought that it would boost my self image and round out the parts of me that were lacking. And so I started the modification. A half size at a time. I decided that I needed a rack.
So I went to the grocery store and bought one cannister of spice at a time. A different one. I built my rack, however, with little research. I didn't go online and compare spices. I didn't compare what was the best deal, what size, combination, and makeup would create the most devastating rack. No, I did it haphazardly. With little thought. And now I have quite a collection.
My rack hasn't turned out like I thought it would be. For one thing, there's so much of it that I don't quite know what to do. When people see it, they stare at my rack. Why? They wonder. Did he really need it? I can't answer their questions. I barely know what to do with my new rack.
Some of its inexperience. I never really had much a spice rack growing up as a kid. Well, I did. But I never paid attention to them. And now I've built my own. And I still build it, by buying one or two spices at a time.
This is what I have. Ground cumin. Tarragon leaves. California lemon peel. Ground ginger. Montreal chicken seasoning. Rubbed sage. Mediterranean basil leaves. What to do with all them? I don't even know what they are. I do know that these are the same kinds of spices that sparked trade wars and conquests (especially the Montreal Chicken Seasoning- the French, the Brits, the Indians and the Americans fought the famous 'Fowl War of 1754' over it, a precursor to the French and Indian War). Sure these things would've been nice to have four hundred years ago- in 1635, I'd be a rich noble vs. the poor soldier I am now.
I bought them with the vague idea that I'd do something with them. And sometimes I do. I dump a few of them in my marinades. I poured some ground cumin (the dirtiest spice out there?) into my bourbon/teriyaki marinade that I left my chicken that I'm going to bake tonight to defrost in. But beyond that, not much.
Its sad. These spices reflect why I'm not meant to be a good cook. I don't like to follow recipes. Recipes mean having to go out and buy ingredients. Ingredients that I don't have. I don't like to do research. Research means time and energy that I don't want to expend on food. And finally, I have a terrible sense of smell. Its what makes me bad at tasting beer. When I put tarragon leaves in my italian marinade, I can't pick up the tarragon. When I put ground cumin in a bourbon, teriyaki sauce, how am I supposed to know where the teriyaki sauce ends and the cumin begins? Maybe teriyaki sauce always smells of cumin.
But my rack remains. It was a bit impulsive. And I'm still building it. One day, it will get to be an extravagant size. People will stare in fascinated and horrified fashion. And until I meet a girl who is a "spice" girl, I don't think there will be any use for them. They're useless appendages to my never ending kitchen endeavors.
The End.
So I went to the grocery store and bought one cannister of spice at a time. A different one. I built my rack, however, with little research. I didn't go online and compare spices. I didn't compare what was the best deal, what size, combination, and makeup would create the most devastating rack. No, I did it haphazardly. With little thought. And now I have quite a collection.
My rack hasn't turned out like I thought it would be. For one thing, there's so much of it that I don't quite know what to do. When people see it, they stare at my rack. Why? They wonder. Did he really need it? I can't answer their questions. I barely know what to do with my new rack.
Some of its inexperience. I never really had much a spice rack growing up as a kid. Well, I did. But I never paid attention to them. And now I've built my own. And I still build it, by buying one or two spices at a time.
This is what I have. Ground cumin. Tarragon leaves. California lemon peel. Ground ginger. Montreal chicken seasoning. Rubbed sage. Mediterranean basil leaves. What to do with all them? I don't even know what they are. I do know that these are the same kinds of spices that sparked trade wars and conquests (especially the Montreal Chicken Seasoning- the French, the Brits, the Indians and the Americans fought the famous 'Fowl War of 1754' over it, a precursor to the French and Indian War). Sure these things would've been nice to have four hundred years ago- in 1635, I'd be a rich noble vs. the poor soldier I am now.
I bought them with the vague idea that I'd do something with them. And sometimes I do. I dump a few of them in my marinades. I poured some ground cumin (the dirtiest spice out there?) into my bourbon/teriyaki marinade that I left my chicken that I'm going to bake tonight to defrost in. But beyond that, not much.
Its sad. These spices reflect why I'm not meant to be a good cook. I don't like to follow recipes. Recipes mean having to go out and buy ingredients. Ingredients that I don't have. I don't like to do research. Research means time and energy that I don't want to expend on food. And finally, I have a terrible sense of smell. Its what makes me bad at tasting beer. When I put tarragon leaves in my italian marinade, I can't pick up the tarragon. When I put ground cumin in a bourbon, teriyaki sauce, how am I supposed to know where the teriyaki sauce ends and the cumin begins? Maybe teriyaki sauce always smells of cumin.
But my rack remains. It was a bit impulsive. And I'm still building it. One day, it will get to be an extravagant size. People will stare in fascinated and horrified fashion. And until I meet a girl who is a "spice" girl, I don't think there will be any use for them. They're useless appendages to my never ending kitchen endeavors.
The End.
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