A lot of my inability to cook stems from the fact that I just don't want to. What I mean by that is that, I don't want to cook for myself. It's obnoxious. There's always left overs that I put in tupperware containers and let sit in my fridge for 3 days too long until I'm too skeeved out by the idea.
But I keep getting nagged by my mom to start cooking and making meals for the freezer because come baby-time I'm not going to want to do any of that. Got it. Still being stubborn.
The other day, I thought, you know what? I'm not going to go to Iron Hill and get a $14 salad that I can make at home for about $6. So I got all the lovely ingredients and headed home. Chicken and red quinoa salad with granny smith apples and oranges. Easy, easy. Or so I thought. Everything was going really smoothly and I was on the final stages of plating the salad. Hey! Cut me a break, I work in the food industry and good presentation, even if for yourself, is a must!
That's when I heard it. "There is a fire. There is a fire. Beeeeeeep beeeeeeep beeeeeeep. There is a fire. There is a fire." I looked to my left to see that my chicken decided to combust. I blame that on some hormones pumped into my chicken (or something). The next thing I realized was that my whole apartment was a smokey haze. My house smelled so gross for the next day. I used so much Febreeze that I'm pretty sure my cat & I were gagging constantly on the smell.
Needless to say: I need cooking help. Send me your recipes - preferably ones I can make in my crockpot or in my oven - stovetop need not apply!
Oh. And yeah, my fire alarm talks. It's a guy and it can detect fires but can't shut the hell up. Typical.
