my cooking sinks to a new low

There is a reason why Phil does the majority of cooking in our house – and that reason is that I am a horrible cook.

When I started cooking dinners on a regular basis, Phil would tell me that, like anything, cooking takes practice.  So that I shouldn’t expect to be a gourmet chef when I haven’t done a lot of honest-to-goodness cooking up to that point.

But its been almost a year now, and its safe to say that my cooking still sucks.

Big time.

Last week, I found a recipe on Pinterest that I thought sounded good and got to cooking.  I was just finishing up the sauce and was dipping a spoon in to taste when Phil got home from work.

It tasted…wrong.  So I added a bit more herbs de Provence* and tasted again; not great, but I’ve made worse.  I dished up a couple of plates and walked them over to the dining room table.

We started to chew in silence.  After awhile, Phil finally said “This sauce tastes kind of funny….it is definitely not your best effort.”

I couldn’t not agree; he was actually being kind, because the sauce was pretty much inedible.

As was the pasta it was doused over and the pork that was cooked in it.

Phil did his best to make it somewhat less disgusting (“if you cover it with enough siracha, then it tastes…like siracha!“) and gamely cleaned his plate.  I could not.  It was all kinds of bad, and I dumped the entire plate into the garbage disposal.

Then I dumped the remaining pasta/disgusting sauce down the disposal as well and turned that sucker on.

Goodbye, gross dinner, may we never be reminded of you again!

***On a side note, I LOVE having a garbage disposal.  It was the one thing that I wanted in the old house that we never did bother installing, and I am so happy that we don’t have to worry about filling our garbage with smelly food remnants.***

Then, like a good wife, I cleaned the kitchen, washed the dishes and started the dishwasher.

When I went to feed that cat before we went to bed, I noticed that both sinks were full of water.

Really, nasty water.

“Uhm…Honey?  Did you happen to fill both sinks with water?”  I called out to Phil.

He didn’t.

We quickly determined that when the dishwasher drained, all the water somehow ended up in our sinks.  We had just spent countless hours installing a new kitchen faucet** a few days before, so we both went straight for that.

The faucet was a real bitch to install and we had to monkey around with it for a very long time just to get it to fit so that it was tight, and we got both hot and cold running water out of it.

All that monkeying must have really fucked something up.

I started scooping some of the water out and depositing it in toilet while Phil ducked under the sink to try to figure out what we did wrong.  After staring at it for 45 minutes, neither of us could decipher the problem.

So we went to bed, shortly after midnight, with the promise to take it all apart tomorrow.

After laying in bed a few minutes, Phil sprung up with an idea – but when he opened the cupboard door, the plumbing under the sink had sprung a leak, and it was quickly filling with the water that was left in the sinks.

Activate panic mode.

He pulled everything out from under the sink, grabbed some pots to catch the water, and I scooped out the remaining water.  Not wanting to risk going back to bed, Phil dismantled the entire piping from under the sink to troubleshoot the problem.

What he discovered was a whole dinner’s worth of pasta and disgusting sauce, as well a copious amount of pork…all minced up and sitting in a giant, disgusting wad of cement-like goo, clogging our pipes.

He worked at it for another hour, and then several more the next day while I was at school to get everything back to good working condition.

And now Phil seems to think its necessary to monitor my disposal usage.

Cooking is stupid.

*there is nothing that a little herbs de Provence can’t make better…almost

**there is no such thing as an “easy home reno”

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