I have never claimed to be a cook. Or comfortable in the kitchen. In my opinion, Hamburger Helper totally counts as a home cooked meal. I’m usually okay with this. Every once in awhile though, I get a little crazy. I attempt to step outside of my Hamburger Helper box and actually fix a meal. Well, as close as I can get to “fixing a real meal.” Today I had one of those wild hairs.
It’s a rarity when I don’t have any meetings after church. Today happened to be one of those days. I arrived home by 12:30 and took a nice long nap. When I woke up I thought I should fix some chicken. Real chicken. Not the frozen wings we use as a quick standby.
Yes. I would fix some chicken. During church I remembered I had bought some bread crumbs sometime back. That sounded nice. I’d fix some nice chicken for dinner tonight.
Problem number one. The bread crumbs have disappeared. Neither dad nor I could find the canister anywhere.
Okay, not a complete deal breaker. I moved on to the improvisation state. It’s a state I visit often.
Problem number two didn’t manifest itself right away. I went downstairs and opened the freezer. There on the chicken shelf (yes, something I inherited from my mom, my meats have their own shelves) was a couple of big white pieces of meat.
Let me explain, when I buy meat I open the package and divide it up. I place smaller portions in freezer bags with a label and a date.
The freezer bag I picked up did not have a label or a date. That can’t be good. I don’t know how old this is – we better eat it up. This thought was followed quickly by, huh, this chicken looks funny. But it was on the chicken shelf so I shrugged it off.
I went upstairs and prepared it with my improvisation method. Then I stuck it in the oven and set the timer.
About 20 minutes later, things started to smell foul. Actually, that’s just it. It didn’t smell fowl at all. Rather it had the disgusting, nauseating aroma of something fishy. FISH! I wasn’t cooking chicken I was cooking fish.
Ugh! Gag! Gross!
Now before you judge me let me explain. I don’t do fish. I don’t buy fish. I don’t eat fish. So, no I didn’t recognize the slabs of fish meat in my freezer. I mean, if I don’t buy fish how could I pick out a baggie full of it from my freezer? And on my chicken shelf, nonetheless. Oh, the horror of the situation. On so many, many levels.
I asked my dad if he had bought some fish.
He said he hadn’t.
If I didn’t buy any and he didn’t buy any that leaves one person. And she’s been gone for almost two years.
I fixed myself a frozen chicken wing and it only took two minutes to cook. Dad ate the fish because we are fiscally retentive people. He didn’t want it to go to waste. I ate my piece of chicken. But dad’s dinner polluted the kitchen with the stinky seafood aroma. Do you know how hard it is to eat while trying not to gag on a smell?
Pretty durn hard, let me tell you.
For dessert we enjoyed a brownie mix that had a best buy date of March 2013. It’s okay, because the vegetable oil I used is also outdated.
It tasted fine.
Want to join us next Sunday for dinner?