betty crocker...

For those of you who know me well, you are probably easily aware that washing dishes is on the bottom of my favorite's list. I would rather do a lot of other yucky chores than scrubbing pots and pans. Maybe it's touching ooey-gooey globby messes, maybe it's chipping off caked on leftovers, or maybe it's dipping my hands into the murky abyss; regardless of the circumstance, a dishwasher is by far my best friend in the kitchen...

This weekend I planned a cooking/baking marathon in order to stock my freezer with some hot lunch possibilities. Sandwiches were getting more than a little old. On the menu were some soups, quick breads, and homemade burritos. I won't get into the boring details, but I would like to say, overall, my kitchen skills proved successful. I tried new ingredients, made it through with no measuring spoons and no fires. Actually, I didn't even burn anything. Shwew. As the day grew on, I suppose I was getting a slightly enlarged ego for how well things were going. That was when God decided to humble me a bit.

!*@&#%^ burritos. It was all their fault. I had cooked the pinto beans on low heat for hours, waiting for the innards to get soft and mashable. After they finally passed the "squish" test, I dumped them in a bowl and prepared to turn them into a spread with the hand mixer (a life-saving gift from my brother during Christmas). The minute I hit the "1" setting, beans became airborne and took flight. Everywhere. Try again. More beans gain magical flying powers. They speckled the floor, and covered the counter top. Anywhere you looked - half smooshed beans stared back, mocking me. I realized too late in the game that my ultimate goal was near impossible. The mooshed beans kept getting stuck in the beaters, preventing the beans needing mooshed from making any progress. I was highly frustrated by this point.

I kept cleaning the beaters, trying again and again. Then, moments after I thought to myself, "What would happen if I was seriously injured while cooking?... e.g. burn, cut, etc." Bam - my right hand slipped and turned on the mixer while my left hand was, once again, cleaning out the beaters. I screamed, possibly cursed, and then most definitely cursed those blessed beans that had caused such grief.

As I nursed my bruised index finger back to life, I wrapped the bean/salsa/cheese mixture into tortillas, and felt a little sorry for myself.

I began cleaning up the disastrous mess (beans stuck to the bottoms of my flip flops, hiding under pans, etc.) and reminded myself how lucky I was to at least have a dishwasher to take care of the majority of the utensils and bowls. "It could be worse," I thought to myself. I filled it with soap and prepared to run a load.

It was then I realized my dishwasher was broken.

The agony of a cooking day gone bad.