Fur Elise

My friend Elise (she of the incubator tummy) often strokes my ego by telling me what a good cook I am, lamenting at the same time her inability to create anything more complex than macaroni and cheese (to which I say: don't knock homemade mac'n'cheese - it is truly one of the greatest foods known to man). So Elise - this one's for you.

I love cooking. I started at a fairy young age, around 12 or 13. At the time I was a legendarily picky eater, and after refusing my mother's carefully prepared meal for about the 487th night in a row, the poor woman threw up her hands in frustration and shouted, "Fine! If you don't like it, YOU can cook for the family from now on!" And I screamed back, "Fine! I WILL!" And I did, until I left home at 18 - because as it turned out, I had a knack for it. Cooking is soothing, intriguing, creative, even meditative. But sometimes it goes from Zen to...well...what happened last night.

For starters, I wasn't feeling very good. An upset stomach, throbbing headache and sore shoulder (no, it's still not healed) were all conspiring to ruin my day. Add to that incessant rain, a cat who has suddenly decided that using the litter box is optional, and a shockingly messy house (I'm not one of those people who clutches their pearls and shrieks, "Oh my stars! My house is a WRECK!" if a coaster gets out of line; if I say my house is a mess, it probably means I've unearthed a woodchuck while rummaging through the closet), and my night was already more or less shot.

And then I started to cook.

The menu: Agnolotti pasta with chicken, mushrooms and broccoli florets in a cream sauce. The result: you'll see.

In my headachy distraction, I put the broccoli and pasta in a pan that was far too small - as a result, the top layer wouldn't stay under water and got dry and crusty, even with constant stirring:

BTW, if you want to add broccoli to pasta, this is the easiest way to cook it, as long as you're using fresh pasta - if you try it with dry pasta, you'll overcook it and end up with mush.

I was wary of the skim milk the recipe called for, since cream sauces are best done with whole milk, but in the interest of good health I gave it a shot. Of course, the milk separated and wouldn't blend with the butter or cheese.

Why use skim milk if you're going to whack in butter and cheese anyway???

And the cheese, for some freakish reason, refused to blend properly with the milk or stay as a liquid (or even simply in a melted state) - instead it turned into this strange goopy stuff with texture vaguely reminiscent of bread dough. "Doughy" is not a word you want to use when describing cheese.

I have never seen cheese do this before. I can only presume that it was posessed Devil Cheese. Also, yes, I use plastic utensils and non-stick pans. Sue me.

Let's take a closer look at that, shall we?

Mmm. Doughy goop.

My reaction to all of this? Combined with the crapness of my day, I just couldn't handle it. Instead of smiling serenely and starting over, June Cleaver style, I burst into hysterical tears and ran to Ben, who patted me on the back, grabbed his car keys, and said we were going out to eat. (Have I mentioned that I love this man?)

So you see, Elise, I'm not always a great cook. In fact, sometimes I have spectacularly unrivaled catastrophes in the kitchen - hence the reason why this will never be one of those cooking blogs with immaculately turned out dishes and perfect photos.

On the upside, our dogs had the best dinner EVER.