In theory I don’t have time to post now, but I feel like I deserve 10 minutes me time.

This is yet another post about how cooking and me are just not compatible.

You know how some people just can’t grasp Math? I’m like that with cooking. Actually, not too hot on Math either, but you get the point.

You see, The Daddy wanted to introduce me to some cool people he knows. We were going to get a babysitter and go out to dinner.

Then, while I was distracted, that somehow turned into Sunday Lunch at Our Place.

Fine. For them, I will tidy my living room.

Still working on other things. Not really giving lunch my full attention, and then, when I do,  it has become lunch at our place, eating a dish that only I can cook. As in me. The non-cook. It is one of my repertoire of about 5 dishes I can cook reasonably well. As long as I concentrate.

I decide to get a head start. By Saturday lunchtime I have been to the supermarket and I am - triumphantly! - cooking up a storm. I have two ways of cooking: For us - sloppy and not very nice. For other people - so scared of getting it wrong that I go all OCD and start adding ingredients drop by drop for the perfect mix. Predictably, yesterday’s preparation of today’s lunch takes me most of the afternoon.

And then The Daddy opens wine, we have a quick dinner, put the kids to bed and I sit at my computer to do some work. I am sleepy, so I am in bed by 11.

And then I remember the lunch. It has been sitting on the bench to cool …

…since 5pm.

I start to rationalize. Chicken, yes, but people take chicken sandwiches on picnics all the time and don’t poison themselves. Remember, I am half asleep at this point. Then, all of a sudden, I am not. Because it dawns on me that the chicken is suspended in a cream sauce.

Chicken and cow juice. It’s a Bacteria Party!

So this morning, 7am, I had a date with a second cream sauce.

You know what happens next. For this, my second cream sauce, I am not so enthusiastic. Plus, The Daddy is not up yet so I am empty of my morning coffee.

I begin by burning the butter.

Start again. All going well. I turn away for no more, I swear, no more than 20 seconds and the whole concoction inexplicably curdles.

I am no good with curdle. Start again.

And now, friends, it is done. And as soon as I have my shower I will be off to the supermarket for another chicken. Silly me, I didn’t think to have one in reserve.

At this point I am thinking our mystery guests had better be Rock Star Cool.

We need more cool around here. Because I have lost mine.

Sometimes I cook. Sometimes The Daddy cooks.

But recently, we have been sharing the cooking. Which means The Daddy cooks the meat and I am responsible for the vegetables and starch.

Last night The Daddy complained that he was sick and tired of chewy rice, raw spinach and raw baby carrots. So I asked him somewhat irritably what he wanted then, and he said “Can’t you at least cook the vegetables?”.

So tonight I cooked the vegetables. Behold: cooked vegetables.

Sometimes I amaze even myself.

This afternoon I decided to try making a  Galette des Rois, traditionally eaten in France at around this time.

Click through above if you would like to see what it is supposed to look like.

Unfortunately, my oven runs very hot and while I could have used The Daddy’s oven, his runs very cold ( yes, we have two ovens, neither of which actually work ).

I should also mention that I have only the most basic of housewifely skills and shouldn’t really be allowed near the oven in the first place. I have, for example, never ever in my long and very full life used puff pastry. Of which this recipe required massive amounts.

So I am not sure what happened today. The cook had the day off, I mistook myself for Martha Stewart, I was having delusions I could do anything, the recipe looked easy, take your pick. (Clue: Actually not the first three.)

Now that I have set the scene, ta-daaaaaa!

Wow, puff pastry sure does puff, don’t it?

Although … once we cut off the burnt bits, it did actually taste pretty good

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In other news, I got a bloggy award, from the gorgeous Kari at I Left my Heart at Preschool.

I have always wanted a Lemonade Stand! Thanks Kari! I am flattered!

I am supposed to pass it on but I am going to take the easy way out and invite anyone who doesn’t yet have it to come and get it. Come on, don’t be shy!

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And don’t forget to tune in to tomorrow’s post, where I will reveal how we saved between $99 and $366 this Christmas.

I know, I know, waiting is difficult. But I can’t feed you all the excitement at once…

Alright, you got me there. Actually I am stopping here because I am feeling very guilty that I am blogging, while letting my husband believe I am doing “real work“. And it’s getting late and I would quite like to get some sleep at some point. So thanks for listening, and Goodnight!

Last night, like most nights, The Daddy prepared his lunch for the next day before going to bed. Sometimes this is a relatively civilised affair involving bread and cold cuts. 

Other times I hear the dreaded sizzling of the pan, and I know we are in for a smelly night. 

No! Not what you think! I am talking about the aroma of fried bacon permeating the house. Yum, yum. Except when it is in your hair, in your clothes, and slowly going stale in all the upstairs closets.

We should really invest in a good extractor fan, because ours does a frankly not very good job. In any case it makes such a noise that The Daddy refuses to use it. Replacing an extractor fan should be a relatively simple and cheap affair, but in our case it is built into our stovetop. As there are no hookups for an overhead extractor, that probably means finding another stovetop. 

So, until we manage an expensive kitchen remodel, smelly we shall stay for a while.

It’s unfortunate that last night The Daddy decided to make kedgeree. It’s a smelly mass of rice and fish. Then he came to see me all excited and made me look up 100 different recipes for kedgeree online so he could check he did it right. 

Of course today was a stinking hot and humid day, meaning no opening of doors and windows to air or whoossshhh! the outdoors would come sliming into the house and suffocate us as we stood. I was all busy with the Oust and the Febreze and all the scented candles I could get my hands on but of course those things only cover up the smell.  

Two things: 

1. Beware of kedgeree! Highly smelly! 

2. My Mothers Day wish: an expensive kitchen remodel. Preferably silently, by fairies, in the middle of the night.