Mindbling Brings Home Bacon, Fries It Up In Pan, Starts Small Fire…


I’m going to be honest with you. I am not what you would call domesticated. I don’t cook. I’m not saying I can’t cook. Of course I can cook. I am a college educated person who can read. But I don’t cook, simply because I don’t think it’s fun.

That’s sort of my life motto – If it ain’t fun, I’m not doing it. Things that aren’t fun – cooking, paying bills, cleaning, visiting the elderly. Things that are fun – drinking, anything you can do while drinking, waterskiing. You get the idea.

Jr. was raised on a diet of fish sticks, things that say Helper on the box, take out, and whatever my mom was making for dinner that night. Occasionally I would suffer from what people have told me is this thing called ‘guilt’, and I would attempt to make a ‘real’ dinner. I coined a dish that to this day we call Chicken Whatif. Basically, you get some chicken and a baking dish, you say What if we put this in … and you bake it for an hour. Sounds risky, but it was always quite tasty, and it represented the pinnacle of my culinary endeavors.

While Mavrick and I were discussing moving in together, he voiced his concern that because of my lack of domestic skills, he was going to have to manage 80% of the cooking. I told him that was ridiculous, and I was right. He actually manages 100% of the cooking.

And he does it very, very well. Mavrick is actually quite handy in the kitchen, especially with the grill. He has several what he calls “Go To” recipes for chicken, ground beef, steak, beef type products, chicken, and more chicken. We ate a lot of chicken.

Then I had to go and mess up the whole production. I read a book. Not just any book, but a book about where our meat comes from. And it grossed me the fuck out. I will spare you the gory details and I won’t get all preachy, but since that day (about two months ago), I have refused to eat what I call Frankenmeat. I’m not a vegetarian, but I refuse to eat anything that isn’t certified organic. Which is, as Mavrick points out on a daily basis, WAY MORE EXPENSIVE than regular meat. AND not sold at our local Shop and Save, meaning we have to haul our cookies all the way to Giant Eagle.

So I have tried to add more meatless dishes to our menu, but if you recall, I don’t cook, so basically I have added more work to poor Mavrick’s kitchen duties, and he doesn’t have any “Go To” veggie meals. He is actually and truly mad at me for vowing to not eat Frankenmeat. He thinks I am being a baby. He told me that if I was a vegetarian when we met, he would NOT have dated me, because he dated a vegetarian once, and it did not end well.

I took that to mean he ate her, so I decided to do something sweet and helpful, to avoid possibly sharing her fate. I was going to cook. Something.

I decided to start with cookies. Because who doesn’t love cookies? Also, I, personally, was craving cookies. I wanted to make something vegetarian, too, to help Mavrick see that there are easy, go-to meals that we can add to his repertoire. I go to my handy-dandy Google and look up tofu recipes. Eggless Spinach Quiche. BAM. Who doesn’t love a good quiche?

I text Mavrick – Where is our mixer do-hicky? I heard a rumor we had one. I had never cooked with a real mixer before. Turns out, it has a lot of parts.

Here is the mixer and it's zillion parts. Also, the most important ingredient of ANY recipe - wine. For me.

How is this even a mixer part? It looks like a visor. Like a granny- wearing, bingo-going visor.

I must have the Pirate Mixer, Captain Hook edition. Cause this came with a hook. ARRR MATEY! I need to get out of my house more.

Also turns out, it makes making cookies super duper easy. Mixers pretty much rock my world. I was a cooking machine. Mavrick and I were texting each other throughout, and at one point, he sends me this humdinger:

Bake them for two minutes less than the recipe calls for. This will make your cookies super moist!

This message stopped me in my tracks. Not because I was overcome with the thought of super moist cookies, but because we used to send each other pictures of our peen and vadge. We used to tear up the cell phone lines with sexting. I almost wrecked my truck on numerous occasions, looking at some of the stuff he would send me. We were the King and Queen of raunchy text messages. And now he was sending me baking tips.

When I was done crying, I decided to tackle the quiche. I prepare my ingredients.

Look at all of my quiche-baking ingredients! And also my breast pump! That is probably not very sanitary.

At this point, Mavrick got home. He was very, very impressed with my cookie baking skills, and how cute I looked in my oven mitt. At this point, I got cocky. I wanted to show him I knew my way around a blender.

I added the quiche ingredients, gave him my best, sexiest eyebrow wiggle, hit blend, and sprayed quiche mix all over myself and the kitchen. Turns out blenders have to be screwed on, and not gently sat on the base. Who knew?

The cookies were deemed delicious, the quiche edible. I will take edible. It was my first stab at quiche-making. Edible works for me. Now that I have proven I can work in the kitchen without burning down the house/poisoning the entire family, maybe Mavrick will let me pitch in and share in the kitchen duties.

I actually keep waiting for that happen. I have offered at least twice now to make dinner in the week since I made my quiche. Which, now that I think about it, Mavrick declined my offer of assistance… maybe my quiche wasn’t so edible after all.



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4 responses to “Mindbling Brings Home Bacon, Fries It Up In Pan, Starts Small Fire…

  1. The thought of you and a mixer is, frankly, a bit scary. And yet everyone survived. I think I underestimated your level of domesticity. Maybe.

  2. Haha. I also become like a lamb to a slaughter when I enter the kitchen to cook. I’ve even managed to take pre-made, pre-cut cookie dough and turn it into a giant cookie pancake.

    Have you ever heard the quote “at the end of the day, I’d rather wrap my dishpan hands around a dry martini than a wet flounder”? Words to live by for the domestically challenged, like myself.

  3. As I always say, the meat I eat comes from the vast groves of hamburger trees along side the giant waving fields of bacon.

  4. You can add to your fun list: Drinking with the elderly. That’s a hoot.

    I also do most of the cooking. This is because a) Mrs. Carpetbagger will put a pot on the stove and then go off multi-tasking somewhere until said food becomes charcoal and ruins the pan (seriously, the house will burn down one day); and b) because I hate, hate, hate to clean the house.

    And ignorance, much like bacon, is bliss.

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