Jordaxia
11-08-2005, 19:57
This is just about embarassing enough for me to have to tell the internet. Thus it is done.
I rarely ever cook. it's pathetic but true, that I go weeks without preparing myself anything more substantial than a microwaved meal or a sandwich, mainly because I live with my parents still, and there's usually enough light snacking. However, I've been at a friends these last few days, and they work til late, so I am forced to provide for myself. I shall regale you with the tale, of the bacon and sausage sandwich.
The omens I had gathered from the sacrificial chicken were poor. The first chicken would not eat the grain provided, so sensing that it was not hungry, I drowned it beneath the tap to quench its thirst instead. (Go go roman admirals!) Deciding that this misfortune would not curse the voyage ahead, I discarded it into the bin, and removed the sausages and bacon from their countainers, hidden from the jealous eyes of Loki, god of trickery. (and another go go for mixing the pantheons)
It was at this point when the omens began to take effect. Nature made an urgent call and I answered, leaving the bacon and sausage Visible and exposed to the elements. When I had returned, all was quiet. Too quiet. Nevertheless, I ignored the gnawing feeling of unease in my stomach and proceeded to fry the meat products of pig and cow. As they began to simmer in the pan, their odours beginning to pervade the kitchen, I started in shock. I had not yet buttered the bread! Snatching the loaf, I emptied two slices onto a plate, and covered them with the golden butter that is so precious to me. By now the frying of the foods had reached a great and terrible crescendo, but in my next mistake, I ignored it. Matters had gone from bad to worse. In the moment I finish buttering the bread, a second revelation! I had not even readied my hot chocolate. How can I eat without a drink to complement? I cannot do any such thing more than I can breathe water. As I made my drink ready for.... drinking, I returned my attention to the frying foods. Examining them, and turning them over, I realised to my abject horror that they had been left on for two long! Grasping the mighty implements of spoon and fork, I turned them in their sizzling prison and let them simmer on, exposing the burning flesh of the underside to my disdaining gaze.
The trials were not over yet, however. As I reached for a spoon to stir my hot chocolate, my trouser leg was ensnared by the groping hand of a cupboard, and with a thunderous rip, the leg torn,a vast gash of which the likes had never been seen. My undergarments now exposed to my fat spitting audience, whose crackles sounded like the very voice of mockery itself, I steeled myself to the task. No more disasters would I allow upon my work.
It was not to be, however. Distracted by that handle, my food once again was becoming dangerously overcooked. The burning was branding my food with the mark of failure. Rescuing them from the pan, I gazed at the damage my desire for a sandwich had inflicted. One pair of trousers ruined, and the foul smelling smoke of charred bacon and sausage filling the room and clouding my vision.
So that was my embarassing culinary tale. Now I must know yours.... either that or you can get cheap laughs at how I was bested by deceased animals.
I rarely ever cook. it's pathetic but true, that I go weeks without preparing myself anything more substantial than a microwaved meal or a sandwich, mainly because I live with my parents still, and there's usually enough light snacking. However, I've been at a friends these last few days, and they work til late, so I am forced to provide for myself. I shall regale you with the tale, of the bacon and sausage sandwich.
The omens I had gathered from the sacrificial chicken were poor. The first chicken would not eat the grain provided, so sensing that it was not hungry, I drowned it beneath the tap to quench its thirst instead. (Go go roman admirals!) Deciding that this misfortune would not curse the voyage ahead, I discarded it into the bin, and removed the sausages and bacon from their countainers, hidden from the jealous eyes of Loki, god of trickery. (and another go go for mixing the pantheons)
It was at this point when the omens began to take effect. Nature made an urgent call and I answered, leaving the bacon and sausage Visible and exposed to the elements. When I had returned, all was quiet. Too quiet. Nevertheless, I ignored the gnawing feeling of unease in my stomach and proceeded to fry the meat products of pig and cow. As they began to simmer in the pan, their odours beginning to pervade the kitchen, I started in shock. I had not yet buttered the bread! Snatching the loaf, I emptied two slices onto a plate, and covered them with the golden butter that is so precious to me. By now the frying of the foods had reached a great and terrible crescendo, but in my next mistake, I ignored it. Matters had gone from bad to worse. In the moment I finish buttering the bread, a second revelation! I had not even readied my hot chocolate. How can I eat without a drink to complement? I cannot do any such thing more than I can breathe water. As I made my drink ready for.... drinking, I returned my attention to the frying foods. Examining them, and turning them over, I realised to my abject horror that they had been left on for two long! Grasping the mighty implements of spoon and fork, I turned them in their sizzling prison and let them simmer on, exposing the burning flesh of the underside to my disdaining gaze.
The trials were not over yet, however. As I reached for a spoon to stir my hot chocolate, my trouser leg was ensnared by the groping hand of a cupboard, and with a thunderous rip, the leg torn,a vast gash of which the likes had never been seen. My undergarments now exposed to my fat spitting audience, whose crackles sounded like the very voice of mockery itself, I steeled myself to the task. No more disasters would I allow upon my work.
It was not to be, however. Distracted by that handle, my food once again was becoming dangerously overcooked. The burning was branding my food with the mark of failure. Rescuing them from the pan, I gazed at the damage my desire for a sandwich had inflicted. One pair of trousers ruined, and the foul smelling smoke of charred bacon and sausage filling the room and clouding my vision.
So that was my embarassing culinary tale. Now I must know yours.... either that or you can get cheap laughs at how I was bested by deceased animals.