Despite building up a fearsome reputation in the kitchen recently (see Soup, and Celery, Apple), I achieved the impossible last night.
Possibly the simplest curry-making sauce on the market went to dust at these hands. That's right, a 'Sizzle and Stir' died, and badly.
The 'Sizzle' bit went on for a bit too long, verged on 'Frazzle' and then went the whole hog and straight onto 'Scorch', all in the space of time it took for me to cut up three turkey breasts.
The rich brown sauce turned black, meaning the final curry was more the kind of brown you find in small, round piles in fields, or on the bottom of your shoes after walking through Hyde Park with your eyes closed.
Never mind. Making bolognese tonight - something I've managed to f*ck up only rarely.
This weekend has already been assaulted 'in potentia' with a number of plans more suited to a Gap Year, so I'm anticipating being a bit knackered by Monday. Then, thankfully, I'll have an entire week to get myself ready for the UK Bloggers' Christmas Bash.
All offers of accommodation gratefully considered on the basis of the offerer's sanity.
Be Excellent To Each Other.
I've managed to scorch my share of sauces. Culinary artiste I am not.
You know, making a sauce is a lot like making love to a beautiful woman. You wouldn't sod off in the middle of that to chop up three turkey breasts: you'd give her an inferiority complex. Unless she had three breasts herself, then she wouldn't be bothered. Oh, that reminds me... (goes off to blog)
Yes, but you were cooking. Which (As long as you didn't describe the sauce as "lovely jubbly") pretty much qualifies your domestic god credentials in my book.
It was throwing off amounts of smoke more usually associated with tanker fires...'Lovely Jubbly' wouldn't just have been inappropriate, it would have been wrong.
And just wrong anyway, of course...