I’ve done it.
I have succeeded in the impossible. I have beaten my previous culinary record.
Last night, I managed to burn boiled potatoes.
Okay, I’m being unfair. I’m normally quite a good cook, when I’m paying attention. In this case, however, I bunged the (tinned) pie into the oven, waited a little bit, put the water on to boil, waited a bit, put the potatoes on, and went to my computer to wait a bit.
At this point, I was hit by an epiphany that solved one of the biggest problems I’ve had this week.
What the hell do I buy LoneCat for christmas?
The important thing is to not have a repeat of our first christmas, where we both got each other the same thing, so I’ve made a resolution not to buy the present from Amazon. Actually, I accidently made LC make this resolution, but since I know what I’m getting now, she’s released from it, since mine isn’t.
So, I started the scouring of the internet, which is seperate from both the scouring of the shire and the scouring of the pan I burnt the potatoes in. I discovered that the thing I actually wanted can cost anywhere between 50 pence and 19,000, depending on where you buy it.
The one I’m getting is neither, obviously.
So, I spent a half hour wandering though places looking for this item, instead of – say – draining, assembling and eating dinner. Then I smelt something. ‘Aha’, said my senses, not quick on the uptake, ‘Roast potatoes’, followed somewhat rapidly from a Four-Weddingsesque litany of curses as I dunked the saucepan into cold water, dumped the burnt offerings on the plate, cut off the burnt bits, dumped the burnt pie on the plate – burning my fingers in the process – and sat down to eat.
I only hope I can get hold of the thing in time.
See, darling, the sacrifices I make?
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a frowny lightbulb to deal with.