Mishaps and Memories ~ Adventures in the kitchen

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Cooking Goddess

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A couple of days ago, taxy asked me to relate the family story of "fruit flies in the soup". I'm sure-sure I'm not the only person who holds onto a memory, humorous or humbling, remembered long after the event. I'll tell you my tale, but then I want you guys to share yours. After all, CWS rattled off three events in a single post that all sound worth telling. :LOL:


Now, about those fruit flies. My Mom had a little garden along side the garage when I was growing up. After the growing season, Dad would prop some old basement storm windows around the parsley bed so we could harvest during the winter. One winter day my great aunt (who lived with us from when I was 7 until her passing 11 years later) decided some fresh parsley would be good in the pot of beef soup she was making for the family dinner. When she brought the sprigs in, she inverted them into a drinking glass at the edge of the counter. Later, into the soup it went. Well...we're sitting around the table enjoying our soup until I noticed what looked like tiny flies in it. I poked Mom, who sat next to me, and whispered "there are fruit flies in the soup". Mom told me to hush, it was only flakes of pepper. "Mom, pepper doesn't have wings." Upon closer inspection, Mom agreed that it sure did look like flies - and told me to be quiet and keep eating. :ermm:

Later, when we cleaned up and Mom went to dump the water from that drinking glass, sure enough there were a few flies in the water. After that, whenever Nana needed parsley I'd offer to get it...and make sure it was well rinsed to avoid any extra, unwanted protein. :LOL:

OK, let's hear your stories.
 
Oh, that is a good one CG. Thanks for sharing. I'll try to remember. Hmm, there's the one with my sister and the ham bone. It'll have to wait until tomorrow. I'm too tired now and about to hit the sack.
 
The first Christmas after my maternal grandma died, we had to have Christmas at home instead of with the tribe. Mom decided for some reason we had to have lutefisk on Christmas Eve. Out came the pressure cooker, in went the lutefisk with milk and butter. It wasn't long before the pleasant Christmassy scent of a fresh Christmas tree was overshadowed by that of lutefisk. My first (and only bite) was of the gelatinous part of lutefisk, which I promptly spat across the table at my brother. En tout cas, none of us ate the lutefisk except Mom. She ate four portions of it (they were small). The rest of us had the roastbeef she had also prepared. Mom burped lutefisk for the next three days and the aroma of lutefisk stayed in the house until Spring, I swear. Needless to say, that was the one and only time my Mom cooked lutefisk.
 
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When I was about in my middle teens, my daddy had prepared a big platter of spaghetti for us. Fortunately, the cleaning person had been to our house that afternoon to scrub and wax the kitchen floor. As daddy was delivering the big platter of spaghetti to the table, he bumped his elbow and the platter tipped. Every bit of spaghetti slipped off and ended up on the floor. Well...he didn't miss a beat and simply scraped the spaghetti up and put it back on the platter.

What else was he going to do? There were 5 hungry children chompin' at the bit to eat.
 
Here's my story.

My sister was about 6 or 7 years old. The two of us were in the kitchen with my mum while she took the meat off a ham. It had been supper, but there was a lot of meat left on it. The ham bone was going to go into pea soup. We were bugging my mum for little scraps of ham. (We were both big time carnivores at that time.) My sister asked if she could have "that bone". My mum thought she was asking about some small bone and said, "Sure". A couple of minutes later, she noticed that my sister was gnawing on the large ham bone. "You said I could have it." Then she noticed that the little one she meant, was still sitting on the cutting board. Mum wasn't happy, but she admitted that she had told me sister it was okay to take the bone. I was pretty disappointed that I hadn't gotten any of that giant ham bone.
 
MISHAP:

In 1990 I was going through the divorce process, living on my own renting a couple of rooms from a guy who owned a single home and learning to cook. After a long day's work I had to come home and make dinner. A new process for me. I started out with simple meals of things I liked. I didn't know much about cooking then, my Ex hadn't allow me in the kitchen.

One night I was frying up a can of corned beef hash for dinner. As I was approaching the finish line, I thought a couple of eggs would be great to top off the hash. So I quickly cracked a couple of eggs into a dish and popped it into the microwave. The I turned back to the hash.

The explosion was deafening and I almost wet my pants. The inside of the microwave looked like it had been wallpapered with partially cooked eggs. There was egg in all the tiny little holes in the microwave walls. It took me forever to clean out the interior of the microwave and all those tiny little holes that I had to clean with a toothpick.

Lesson learned about eggs in the microwave.
 
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