The day before, I tried a new recipe for "Shrimp Creole". My man is a meat and potatoes kind of guy, but every once in a while I try to test out a new concoction. We had eaten the creole the night before with relatively good reviews, so with a lot leftover, dinner for the next night was a given.
The next evening as I was getting ready to go to exercise class, I had the brilliant idea of going ahead and start heating up the creole before I left. The creole would then be warm when Richard came home from work, and I would undoubtedly get extra points for thinking of him.
As I looked into the refrigerated dish, I noticed that we had eaten more than our fair share of the shrimp from the creole the night before. So being the type of cook that always tweaks recipes, I decided to cut up some smoked sausage and add to the dish. Now it would be a cross between creole and gumbo. Richard was going to love it because of all the meat now swimming in the roux.
I was patting myself on the back, saying what a great idea it was to add the sausage. I was gloating in the fact that I was such a good and innovative cook. The Cajun chefs of New Orleans would stand up and salute me for thinking of adding such an ingredient. I was standing in the glow of my own accolades, when I saw the time and had to get busy heating up this magnificent dish.
The corningware dish with the half gallon of shrimp creole was heavy, but add the pound of sausage and it probably weighed over ten pounds. Not wanting to be late for exercise class, I hurriedly lifted the dish into the microwave above my stove.
I microwaved it for a few minutes and thought I had better take the dish out and stir it for more even heating... because I'm such a good cook and all. As I started taking the creole out, I hit the dish on the edge of the microwave.
Once the heavy dish starting getting out of balance, there was no saving it. It starting sliding out of my hands. In a split second the dish had escaped my grip and crashed down below onto my ceramic cooktop stove.
In shock, I stood there for a minute to try to take in what just happened. The microwave door was still open and shrimp creole was dripping down from the puddle of roux spilled into the microwave. There was creole everywhere. It was running down my stove, the countertop, the walls and the kitchen door. There was a river of creole running through my kitchen and I was standing in the middle of it.
I looked down and my capri pants had roux splashed all over them. I felt a shrimp slowly slide down my leg and land in the puddle of creole I was standing in. Zoey, my granddog, who is always underfoot, started licking the deliciousness from between my toes.
As I regained consciousness, I noticed my stovetop didn't look quite right. Through all the roux, shrimp and sausage I saw the corningware dish sitting in a hole in my cooktop. The ceramic cooktop was not just broken, it was busted. The dish had hit my stove like a meteor, and the crater it left was nothing less than impressive.
I started scooping up creole with my hands and throwing it in the sink. I was grabbing towels and anything that would help me contain the river of creole. Zoey, still trying to lick my moving feet, gave me the idea to call the other two dogs in to help with the cleanup. Zoey, Missy and Maggie could clean and get fed too.
I finally realized I was going to have to call for backup. The creole was running in between my stove and counter, so the stove was going to have to be pulled out. In a creole crisis, who you gonna call: RICHAAARD!!
I called Richard's cell and casually asked where he was exactly on his drive home from work. He said he was stopping by the store and did I need anything. Welllll... (I said in my most innocent, but I know I'm guilty voice).... I sort of need some help. I broke the stove... no, I really BROKE the stove.
When Richard got home and stepped into the calamity of chaos, all he could say was, "You sure did break the stove..." As always Richard quickly took control of the creole situation while I continued to run in circles with the dogs behind me licking my heels.
There are better ways to get a new stove, but this one did get the job done. I will be very careful from now on when taking anything out of the microwave.
It will be a while before I'm feeling like "The Confident Cajun Cook" again. When the New Orleans chef, Emeril says "Bam!" he's adding a little spice to his cooking. When I'm cooking and you hear a "Bam!" it's time to put on your rubber boots and start cleaning.
heheheheee You crack me up!
ReplyDelete