YaYa Princess

Our tale starts on Saturday afternoon.  The boy and I, after running some errands, decided to head to the Tidel Basin to get on one of those self-propelled paddle boats that have the bicylce peddals on them.  I believe the boy said it best when, 5 mins into our excursion, the boy declared that “this is dangerously like excersize”.  By the time we got out to the middle of the water is was quite nice (burning thighs aside) and we took in all the sights of DC-the Jefferson Memorial, the National Monument, a dead fish in the water….ahh DC

On the way home I mentioned that maybe we’d like to stop by The Italian Store.  For those of you who don’t know it,  if you love Italian food then The Italian Store is like your church.  So the boy immediatly flips into the parking lot.  I actually haven’t ever been to this market but it was cool.  We spent an arm and a leg, and came home with lots of stuff that includes garlic, olive oil and chianti!

Tonight I decided to make the roasted pepper raviolis.  Now, I never would have thought that directions could be intimidating, but it was as if some Scicilian Nana had written the directions on the package herself, explination points and all, lest I boil her precious raviolis 1 min too long.  So I carefully prepared the raviolis, with even a dishcloth over my shoulder.  You would’ve thought I was straight off of the boat.  I cut bread, melted the butter and proceeded to make garlic bread.  Now, let me say here and now I don’t like the broiler.  I prefer the logical, timeline oriented foods.  I even thought about putting the broiler on low, but the ravioli’s were cookin’ pretty quick so I thought it would be better to put it on high.

So my ravioli’s come to a boil, and the pesto is ready, and I am gently taking out the delicate little pasta when I realize there’s a funny burning smell.  I realize that my pot of water (from when I was going to hardboil eggs earlier) is smoking.  I take the pot off of hte stove and look under it, thinking that obviously it’s the heat from the other burner.  But then I realize that the burner itself is smoking.  What????  OMG in all my concern over the friggen pasta I completely forgot about the damn bread.  And this is where the three stooges act comes into play.

Apparently I start yelling for the boy’s help, but by yelling his last name which I never do.  Let me say we have THE most sensitive smoke detector so I run over and turn on the fan that we keep there (b/c it is, as I said, the most sensitive damn thing).  Then I run back to the stove, and in my crazieness hit the “clean” button instead of the off button.  Meanwhile the boy is slipping on water that I spilled earlier while unloading the dishwasher.  I’m running back and forth b/w trying to keep the fire alarm from going off and keeping the cat in the house since the boy opened the balcony door.  Then he says to me “well take the bread out”.  Ok, let me explain.  I am a very liberated, independant woman.  But there are times when I realize -aint’ no way.  This was one of those times.  He gets the bread out and this….is what we found

 

 And that, my friends, is the story of how I burnt the bread.  Oh yea, and the damn pasta could’ve waited another min AND the smoke detector never went off!

In: Everyday Life | | #