Somethin' about nothin'

Where is the joy in cooking? I don't see it, nor do I get it. I'm standing in my kitchen surrounded by vegetables, noodles, spices, chicken, and it takes every ounce of strength that I have to simply not panic. Women and men have been cooking for centuries. It can't be that hard, or can it? Afterall, I did take a cooking class. Okay, so this class was more about the proper way to cut, chop, and dice, and had very little to do with how to actually cook. But I can wield a knife now so how hard can it be?

Fast forward 20 minutes and I now have every vegetable in the entire house cleaned, peeled, chopped or diced. I'm on fire. I feel like I can now take on anything and feeling quite silly about the fear that plagued me only a short time ago. What was I thinking? Look at how quickly and easily I whipped through each piece. This is easy!

...and then it happened. The high that I was riding came to a screeching and rather abrupt halt. As I stand here marveling at the work I've done, I realize that I have no idea as to what needs to happen next. Should I have already started the noodles? How long do they need to boil? Wait, do I boil them or do I saute them? When do I add spices? Do I even need spices? What about the chicken...holy crap, the chicken! I have no idea how to cook chicken. What do I do with the chicken? I frantically look from object to object, and each time I'm lost as to either it's purpose or how to cook it. My forehead begins to sweat. I turn, let out a slow breathe, drink some ice water, let out another slow breathe, and turn back around. I can do this!

Now the water is boiling, I insert the noodles. The pan is hot, I add the salt and peppered chicken. Wait...is salt and pepper enough? We have other spices in here...oh, and there's saffron...mmmm, saffron. 6 spices are now in the pan and the aroma is, well, let's just say that when I smell the chicken I want to sneeze. Okay, now what. The vegetables! I need to add the vegetables! Which one do I add them to? The chicken. I'll add them to the chicken. It still smells okay and if I stand outside of the kitchen to gauge the aroma I no longer sneeze. Is this a good sign? Hmmm. Now what. I put lids on both the pan of chicken and the now boiling noodles and then stand there. Do I just wait? What am I supposed to do? Hmmm....maybe Google can help me. I begin my Google search.

Some time later (I'm really not sure how much time has passed), I begin to notice that my carefully crafted aroma has now changed. It no longer smells like it might be edible and there seems to be a strange haze throughout the kitchen, living and dining rooms. I don't remember ever seeing haze in any cooking shows. But maybe that's just made for TV. Hey, one can hope. I certainly did! There doesn't seem to be any flames coming from the stove top (I can see it from the living room) but a bunch of smoke just shot out from under the moving lid and the fire alarm is now going off. Uh oh. I run to the stove, pull the pan and pot off their burners, grab a brown paper bag that I used to carry in groceries, climb up on the counter, and franticaly fan the smoke detector. After what seemed like hours, and was actually only about 30 seconds, the alarm turned off. No sirens yet, so I open the windows, turn on every fan I can find, and stare at my still covered pan and pot. Is it safe yet?

So I admit, I am a wee bit nervous at the thought of taking the lids off. I mean, they were alive a few minutes ago. I wait about 10 minutes and then slowly lift the lids, one at a time, with the opening starting away from me. Hmm, no flames are coming out. Wow...this looks kind of like food still. I wonder if it's edible. Where's the dog. She'll eat anything. I grab her bowl and proudly scoop my work of art into her bowl and with a smile, call her to her surprise dinner. She'll be thrilled, I know it. She'll eat anything and everything...except as it turns out, my cooking. She looks at it, sniffs it, backs away, looks at me and then lets out a small whine. Surely she must not be feeling well or maybe some fresh water will help. I re-fill her water bowl and put her back in front of her dinner again. Same response. Not a good sign.

I decide to try some myself. Afterall, isn't that what every good chef does? I cut off a piece of chicken (it's a little tough so it takes a minute), lift it up on a fork, and sniff. I didn't sneaze this time, but I did set down the fork with the chicken still on it, turn off everything in the kitchen, grab my purse and keys, and walk out the door. It's time to let someone else sweat over dinner. There's always tomorrow.