Yesterday I learned several things.
1. When left to boil on high for approximately 90 some minutes, eggs will in fact turn black.
2. Eggs that have turned black will make your house smell like something worse than rotting, decaying death has crawled under the bed and taken up residence there.
3. Never cook while you’re in the midst of writing an engaging scene in a romance novel.
4. The oven timer is your friend.
5. All-Clad cookware is the best stuff ever.
Although I like to kid myself that I’m now old enough and smart enough to not do completely stupid things, yesterday proved me wrong.
In the middle of the afternoon, I decided to make potato salad to go along with dinner. I had leftover potatoes from the night before and just needed a few boiled eggs. I filled the pan with water and added the eggs, then set it on the stove.
Hearing the phone ring, I turned on the burner, not paying any attention to how high it was set and ran to grab the phone in my office. It was a good friend and we chatted for a several minutes.
By this time, I’d completely forgotten about the eggs.
I’d barely hung up with her when Captain Cavedweller called to let me know he was working late.
Knowing I had oodles of time to get dinner ready before the mister arrived home, the thought that eggs were boiling away, on high, never crossed my mind.
Returning to the romance novel I was working on before I started the egg boiling process, I got quite involved in writing a scene. I was so involved, in fact, more than an hour had gone by when I suddenly realized something didn’t smell right.
It smelled entirely wrong.
Like something was burning. Or more accurately, the hair on something rotting and decomposing was burning.
Racing to the kitchen, I suddenly recalled putting eggs on to boil, more than an hour and a half earlier.
Grabbing the pan (and yes, the stay-cool handle was only mildly warm), I ran through the garage and outside to the garbage can where I took off the lid.
I’m pretty sure the stench made my eyes cross for a moment before they began watering.
Knowing if I set the pan anywhere outside to cool the neighbor’s pack of bloodthirsty hyenas (nosy, always hungry cats) would be into it.
So I lifted the lid on the garbage can and dumped the blackened little orbs inside.
Of course, when I did that, the pan brushed against a garbage sack and I now had melted plastic all over the outside while the inside was completely and totally black.
Had I been thinking (which I so obviously wasn’t), I would have taken a photo of the pan to show illustrate how entirely awful it looked.
Devastated at the thought of having to throw out one of my awesome All-Clad pans, I instead took out my container of stainless steel cleaner and went to work. Forty-five minutes later, the pan looked like this:
All shiny clean once again.
I wouldn’t trade my All-Clad pans for anything. They have saved my bacon more than once and this just proved what high-quality cookware I abuse on a daily basis.
By the time CC arrived home, the house was frigid from having the doors and windows open for several hours and still stunk to high heaven despite the odor neutralizer I liberally sprayed and the candles burning in every room.
From now on, no more writing and cooking at the same time. Apparently, the distraction is too much for me to handle.
(Note: the people at All-Clad don’t know me from Adam’s off ox. I just think they have a superior product.)
She Who Has A Stinky House and An Amused Husband