Even a good cook...

Even a good cook can make mistakes. I don't make mistakes often, and I'm convinced that half of those mistakes are because my food has risen up in arms against me. Take this morning, for example. I lost half of my breakfast because of a rebel band of eggs.

The story began shortly after I woke up and was only a few sips into my first cup of coffee (oh yes, today it is only one of many cups to come). As I was making my beloved breakfast of eggs scrambled with green onions, tomato, and havarti cheese, I picked up the skillet to add the tomatoes and cheese, which were peacefully resting on the cutting board behind me. As I turned around, my finger touched the side of the pan, in a moment of startled pain, I jerked my hand away from the pan (this was the plan of the eggs and green onions--surprise was on their side!).

Do not fear, for they did not completely succeed!

It was not the hand holding the pan as they had wished. Such commonplace accidents to not happen to one such as I--I know the mind of my food. No, the wounded finger belonged to the hand holding the spoon, with half of the eggs carefully waiting within the belly of the spoon (this was Plan B of the Eggs). With that fateful jerk of a hand, the mutinous eggs made a quick escape from the pan onto the floor. Fortune smiled upon me as only half of my eggs were opposed to the tomatoes and cheese, and stayed safely in the pan. I'm sure the uprising would have liked to have taken down the entire pan, but they were not prepared for my iron grip on the skillet.

Rebel eggs! I'm still hungry because of you. Was it necessary to burn my finger because you were so opposed to mixed company in the skillet? I hardly think so.

Beef and Beer

Tonight's dinner shall be called the "Stressed-Out Student Special", since it mainly consists of comfort food. I've had a nice pot roast sitting in my freezer for such a time as this. With my senior project due on Thursday, and my fondness for procrastinating, I've been scrambling around like a toddler in a room full of candy (although not nearly as happy as such a toddler would be).

Therefore, at 1:15 this afternoon, I popped in a pot roast. It had been marinating overnight in a delightful concoction of french onion soup mix, red wine vinegar, a dash of soy sauce, and plenty of garlic. Before baking it, it was smothered in onions and wrapped in foil (I have no corningware, and must improvise). I don't think I've tackled a roast on my own before, and I must admit, it turned out beautifully. I used the juices of my cow hunk to make a brown gravy (thickened with rice flour, of course).

Paired with a baked potato covered in natural butter and plain greek yogurt and a fruity beer, I am gaining the courage to face the daunting battle of my paper once more. (I think the chocolate-chip pecan cookie[s] helped, too.)

Isn't it funny how, when well-fed, we can face the world?

Food. The Beginning.

Every year, the fresh spring air drives me to do something crazy. This year, it has inspired me to start writing a blog about one of my life's joys: food. I wish this inspiration could have waited until after I had finished my senior project paper, but inspiration waits for no man (or woman).

As Irma Rombauer found joy in cooking, I find joy in the kitchen amidst a stressful last semester of college. While juggling school, job searching, and a boyfriend living halfway across the country, I find extra moments of bliss while cooking.

I'll share my joy with you.