Well, whaddya know?
Mar. 18th, 2009 06:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holly_evolvingSo, as most people who read this blog know, I'm not into St. Patrick's Day. Thus, the following story is hypocritical, but I'm ok with that.
I found out a few weeks ago that my mom was not going to be doing a St. Patrick's Day dinner. Can't really blame her; it's a lot of work for a Tuesday night. So I wanted to make a reservation for me and Jay at Thatcher McGee's, which is a marvelous Irish pub about five minutes from my house. But they wouldn't take reservations. Irish pub. No reservations. For St. Patrick's Day. So at noon the day before I decided, damn the torpedoes, I'll make it myself.
I should mention at this point that I've never cooked meat before, and most of my culinary excursions amount to boiling water and putting sliced veggies in a pot with some olive oil. Tasty, but still. Even a bugged-out chimp on Xanax could do it.
So, the plan was as follows: 2.5 pounds (smallest cut I could get) of corned beef and 3 pounds of baby red potatoes roasting in the oven, and a head of cabbage and a pound of baby carrots in a pot on the stove. Did the corned beef come with the requisite seasoning packet? Why no, no it didn't. So I had to MacGuyver something on the spot.
Justin had Karen over, so it was dinner for four.
The results? Well, all I have left is half the veggies and three potatoes. Dinner was DEVOURED while the cats sat begging on the kitchen floor.
That's right. I have discovered, at 28, that I can cook.
I found out a few weeks ago that my mom was not going to be doing a St. Patrick's Day dinner. Can't really blame her; it's a lot of work for a Tuesday night. So I wanted to make a reservation for me and Jay at Thatcher McGee's, which is a marvelous Irish pub about five minutes from my house. But they wouldn't take reservations. Irish pub. No reservations. For St. Patrick's Day. So at noon the day before I decided, damn the torpedoes, I'll make it myself.
I should mention at this point that I've never cooked meat before, and most of my culinary excursions amount to boiling water and putting sliced veggies in a pot with some olive oil. Tasty, but still. Even a bugged-out chimp on Xanax could do it.
So, the plan was as follows: 2.5 pounds (smallest cut I could get) of corned beef and 3 pounds of baby red potatoes roasting in the oven, and a head of cabbage and a pound of baby carrots in a pot on the stove. Did the corned beef come with the requisite seasoning packet? Why no, no it didn't. So I had to MacGuyver something on the spot.
Justin had Karen over, so it was dinner for four.
The results? Well, all I have left is half the veggies and three potatoes. Dinner was DEVOURED while the cats sat begging on the kitchen floor.
That's right. I have discovered, at 28, that I can cook.