My cooking fail from two weeks ago told in reverse chronological order.
My bedroom, lights out. A table fan set on top of my nightstand is ferociously blowing on my elevated left hand.
“It’s 2am?!” I exclaim to myself. “I should’ve been asleep two hours ago!” Groaning, “Great! I have to be at work at 9 and I’ll wake up with bags under my eyes, that’ll be real cute.” “Ok woo-sah Rakhi. Just forget about the pain, put on more of that green gel and try to fall asleep. Just pray that you don’t have blisters on your hand by the time you wake up.”
30 minutes earlier
Scene: 24-hour super market. The store is eerily empty with only a few store clerks working.
“Ma’am,” I squeak to the woman stocking the shelves, “Where are your burn ointments?” She takes me over to the aisle and points to row of burn creams and gels. I take one of everything and rush to the checkout counter. I’m desperate. I drop all the bottles from my throbbing red left hand. It takes every ounce within me not yelp. I’m not sure if the store clerk looks sorry for me or wonders if I had lost all my marbles.
5 hours earlier
I’m preparing to make my first ever home made chicken broth. I take a snap shot to document the moment.
90 minutes later
Chicken is done baking. I remove the broth and let it simmer.
30 minutes later
Chicken broth is done, it’s time to let it cool down and continue watching the MTV Video Music Awards.
20 minutes later
I try to figure out a way to pour the broth into a glass jar without getting it everywhere. There is not a funnel to be found in my kitchen so I decide to slowly pour the broth. Without thinking, I hold the jar to steady it, which becomes my biggest mistake. I accidently pour too fast and nearly 1/3 of the hot broth gets on my hand. I drop everything, let the broth spill over the countertop and run to the kitchen faucet and place my hand under the cold water.
I remove my hand from the faucet and realize I have a first degree burn. My skin is beginning to peel and the webs between my fingers feel like they’re on fire. I clean the kitchen as quickly as a one-handed person possibly can and go to bed with a bag of ice. I toss and turn in my sheets and I finally decide to fill a bucket with cold water, sleep on my side with my left hand dangling in the bucket next to my bed because at that point I needed sleep and it was the only way I was going to get through the night.
But the bucket doesn’t help. The ice doesn’t help. The fan being on doesn’t help. So that brings me to the late night trip to the store where I buy the burn cream and the green gel from the lady who thinks I’m crazy. I slather on the stuff like you would butter a holiday turkey and hold my hand up to the fan set on top of my nightstand and finally drift off to sleep.
Don’t hold a jar as you’re pouring hot liquid into it. But no really, if there’s anything you can ever take away from coming to Little Bliss Book, other than maybe being partly amused by my kitchen fail, don’t do this, save your hand.
My broth wasn’t actually a fail. Me pouring it into the jar was. The broth actually turned out great and only took me a short time to make it. I’ll have the recipe up later this week:)
On another side note:
This stuff works!
This post is a part of the Daily Prompt Weekly Writing Challenge: Backwards