What the CLUCK?

Alternate post title: I should stay the hell away from cooking chicken...

I read Finger Lickin' Fifteen, a Janet Evanovich book and I was hungry for chicken. Go figure. it's just the way I work, okay? It was either fix chicken or get arrested for sexually assaulting a guy who could be Ranger. The chicken was a safer bet, so I thought.

I had a whole chicken in the freezer and I thought I would bake it with a rub on it, and then do some country fried taters with onions and peppers and a pan of corn bread in the cast iron skillet and call it dinner. Mac thought it sounded good so he was on board with it.

Well, the first problem was that I decided this but didn't have enough time for the chickie to thaw. It was about half frozen when it went into the oven. My second problem is I've never cooked with a rub before (other than on the grill, anyway) so I didn't realize it would take longer to bake so the rub didn't burn while the bird was still raw. Of course, I discovered that when I read it online about 10 minutes after the chicken went in the oven. The final problem is that this bird must've been on frickin' steroids because this was a ginormous chicken. Bottom line: the chicken was not going to be done baking the same time as the rest of the food. So I quickly scrambled some eggs and fried up some sausage and we had that with the corn bread and taters.

Though we were all bummed about the chicken, I figured I would just pull it off the carcass and make either a casserole or a pot of homemade chicken and noodle (or dumpling) soup the next day. The chicken actually was taken out of the oven about an hour after we were done with dinner.

Live and learn...

But of course, it couldn't just end there. The chicken was beautiful and fine. It was golden and crispy. The juices bubbled. It smelled like heaven. The aroma was mouth watering even though we were all full from the impromptu breakfast-as-supper- I hastily tossed together at the last minute. We even pulled off little bits of the chicken and the skin- it was tender and golden. This was the perfectly baked chicken- with not one bag of guts or flame or exploding anything in sight.

Daddy-O and I decided we would leave it on the counter to cool to the touch before pulling it off the bone. We weren't going to leave it out long enough that anyone would get sick, but this was piping hot and before ripping all that scrumptious meat from the carcase it had to cool off.

In about 30 minutes I went to the kitchen to start on the bird and snatch a few yummy bites while "plucking" only to find to my utter horror that the chicken was no longer fit for human consumption because ...*dramatic pause*... it was covered in about 50 enormous black ants. Oh. My. G-R-O-double S-- GROSS!

Now Daddy-O and I are clean people. We are rather fastidious when it comes to a clean kitchen. Some folks might even akin such cleanliness to an OCD that should be medically treated since we clean everything with bleach water and 409 ALL THE TIME. There isn't a crumb or a smear of jam or a bit of food to be found. We didn't have ants 'cause we're nasty. We have ants because it's the MidfreakingWest in the middle of July in high humidity with temperatures hovering near 100 in a house that's over 100 years old and the ants just need to go somewhere. And all over my dang chicken is the somewhere they went, those little bastards.

I was mortified and mad. I was disgusted and pissed. I was grossed out and just irritated. I felt bad that Daddy-O, who bought groceries, had wasted money on food we couldn't eat AND that all the patience and hard work to make the perfect chicken was stamped out by the "Invasion of the Picnic Creatures."

And I swear if I had waited 10 more minutes to walk into that kitchen, the chicken would've marched passed us in the living room! And the final exceptionally gross thing is that the ants were stuck in either the grease at the bottom of the pan or in the rub goo on top of the bird. Oh, it was just awful! AWFUL AWFUL AWFUL!

So the bird went into the trash, the pan was immediately set to soak in hot soapy water, Taro the Ant killer was set out all over the place, and the bleach water and 409 were hauled out to scrub yet again.

I hate ants. This is my second run in with ants on my food in my lifetime but at least this time I didn't eat them. That's a post for another day.

I don't think I'll ever eat chicken again. Or at least not for a very looooong time.

cluck it,
Maggie

Tales from Maggie's Kitchen in 2 parts- Part 2

I'm continuing my days of yore cooking stories,. gather round all ye children and be afraid, very afraid for someday, Miz Magz may actually cook for you!

Story A- Where's a good bakery when you need one?
The chicken was in flames. The pizza was toast. All within one week. For some stupid fucking reason that only the gods of hell would understand, I get some wild hare brained scheme to bake an apple pie. From scratch. I have no idea what I was thinking- maybe that I hadn't experienced enough Kitchen Torture yet? But yeah, I decided to make a homemade apple pie. In the same week that I burned a chicken and a pizza to the point of needing fire extinguisher refills, not once, BUT twice. So oh yes, I should be baking, by all means... NOT!

I would like to see a show of hands from all of you who know there were certain apples you cook with and certain ones you bake with and certain ones you ate raw and certain ones you DID NOT FUCKING EVER WANT TO PUT IN A PIE??? Those of you with your hands up suck. Yeah, you know what is coming. You know. I was 25 years old and had never made a pie in my life. Cut me some slack, please.

I got my cookbook out and made a crust. From scratch. It was very...doughy. And there was lots of flour every where. And I guess there is a reason some recipes say baking soda and other say baking powder- there is a difference. But I managed to not get that right. Then came the apple part. I was really tired from making the dough and shopping. So, I cored the apples and chopped them up and threw them in the pie shell. I tried to make the dough strips on the top, like lattice work, but it looked bad so I just decided to bake it without- think of an open faced pie.

Okay, lots of things are wrong here as I am sure you are figuring. I, um, forgot, to peel the apples. I cored them but I forgot the peeling part. I know it said it in the cookbook, but I think I just overlooked that part. And, as aforementioned apples, I didn't buy the right ones to cook with. Oh no, I ended up with the TARTEST apples in the WORLD. And one tiny minor detail- I forgot the sugar. Oh please, like none of you have ever forgotten any ingredient when cooking before? I'm sure you're thinking this isn't a big deal because it probably went up in flames anyway, right? Well, sort of....... um ............. not exactly.

See the pie bubbled over- pie juice from the apples that I must have left sort of wet from rinsing - and I managed to save it from being blasted with the fire extinguisher that I had to use again. But a potholder stuck to the bottom of the pie pan, so it went into the oven, and then fell to the bottom of the oven and caught fire so I yanked the pie out of the oven and sprayed the pot holder lying on the bottom. Yep, flames. Not big ones, but flames nonetheless. The pie looked okay otherwise. So I have a flaming ovenmit and a saved pie and another damn fire extinguisher to refill. And 4 year old Mac singing, "we're goin' to Pizza Hut, we're going to Pizza Hut..."

So, a guy, a date sort of guy, came over after dinner and Mac and I serve the pie. I am all proud. I even managed to get the smell of singed and smoked ovenmit out of the house. The pie looked fine, but tasted horrible. The guy actually spit his bite back onto the plate. So did I. So did Mac. Mac actually uttered , "Mommy, this doesn't taste like the ones we get at McDonald's." Oh and it was the last date with that guy.

The next day I just went to the fire station and I think they were afraid to laugh. I said one word: "pie." They just filled the sucker up, handed it to me and let me leave. I swear the strained sounds of muffled cackling laughter so did not waft in the air behind me.

Story B- I Swear I have nothing against chickens!

I was making hard boiled eggs, or trying to make them. I brought the water to a rolling boil, then gently dropped in the eggs. And they would explode and pop. And splatter all over the stove, me, the exhaust overhang thingy. I do this to an entire dozen eggs. Each one explodes. I have scrambled egg looking goo floating in the water and all over the place. I am pissed. I call my mother and the conversation is something like this:

me: I got defective eggs at the store. An entire dozen. I am so gonna call there and complain. They can't go selling bad food. Especially dairy. That is so wrong. Someone could've gotten sick or got salmonella or botulism because of these things.

mom: what was wrong with the eggs? Rotten?

me: No, I was trying to hard boil them and all they did was break, pop and explode. I have egg crap all over the damn place!

mom: what do you mean explode? Did you do it in the microwave or something?

me: no, I boiled the water, dropped in the eggs, and just *bam*- exploding everywhere. I am so gonna call the manager...Mom, why are you laughing, mom, are you there? Breath mama, breath!

mom: *sounds of gasping for air though hysterical laughter and wiping away tears.*

Guess I should have put the cold eggs in cold water, then turned the pan on. Ooops.

And thus concludes Maggie's cooking escapades. Now, I would like to tell you all that I have gotten so much better over the years and rarely do I have cooking fiascoes that in any way, shape or form resemble these stories.

I make a wonderful egg plant parmesan. I have a recipe for homemade tomato sauce that tastes like granny from Italy would make. I make homemade pasta (with a rolling pin and knife, not a pasta maker). I love to make yeast rolls, Hungarian pecan tassies, pork chops with apple stuffing, braised lamb chops with apricot glaze, pot roast in a red wine sauce... these are just a few dishes from my current cooking repertoire. So see, time does heal all... cooking mistakes.

I'm smokin' hot,

Maggie

Tales from Maggie's Kitchen in 2 parts- Part I

Writing about my grilling experience from yesteryear reminded me of my cooking stories of the past and I thought I would share these.

First, I wrote these on a previous blog under my old moniker and I have to say these are some of my most popular writings- I wrote these about 3+ years ago. And these are some of Hecate's favorite stories, and I know she could use a chuckle right now... If you read these before, I apologize for the repeat. And newer readers- enjoy and I promise to not have my feelings hurt over your hysterical howling laughter.

Story A- Why does the Chicken Cross the Road?
There was this one time, no it wasn't band camp, when I decided to bake a whole chicken with potatoes and carrots. This was about 12 years ago, and Mac was around age 4. I had always baked pieces of chicken that were already cut up, but the whole fryers were on sale for like 23 cents a pound so we were going to do it up right! Well, I took the chicken and held it under the water and rinsed it off, letting the water run through the cavity. I put it in the roasting pan with the veggies. I turned on the oven for 350 bake for 45 minutes. Okay, no worries. Dinner would be great, I was thinking. Mac and I would eat well and I would have leftovers for the next day.

In 45 minutes, I checked the chicken and it wasn't done. Well, okay- it was whole so it might need a bit longer than the already cut up pieces I was used to baking. So I waited another 15 minutes- still not done. Well, I thought maybe it was some special chicken that needed more time, so I cranked up the temperature to about 450 degrees. And waited another 30 minutes. Um, guess what? The chicken still WASN'T done. For those of you who are math impaired like me, we have now had the bird in the oven for 90 minutes. So I let it go and finally after 3 hours in the oven I took the damn fowl out. I sat it on the stove top, poked it with a fork and the entire thing burst into flames! I grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out the fire.

Well, I called my mom, as any woman would in this situation. We tried to figure out why a chicken would just burst into flames for no reason. I thought that maybe the flames happened because of spontaneous combustion or some such scientific nonsense. I also thought maybe the cold air hit some sort of hot pocket in the birdie. My mom thought that...um... Maybe a more logical reason could be that the paper bag which holds the "innards" of the bird were left inside the chicken while I cooked it and they caught on fire...

Yeah, I know NOW, but back then I had no clue that chickens were sold with their guts tucked inside the cavity in a little paper sack. Who the hell does this? What sort of weird person wants chicken guts? And why sell them in a paper sack hidden away, like drugs or contraband? It wasn't like there were directions for the chicken cooking novice. For example, they put warnings on Preparation H that say don't take orally because we know someone did this...Why not chicken directions? I mean, really! The Nerve! I cannot be the first person who cooked the chicken, guts bag and all. Is it supposed to be some little gift for the chef from the butcher? It was all so very Silence of the Lambs. And it was slimy, yucky, raw meat for goddess sake so there was NO way I was going to stick my hand in the cavity of the chicken before I cooked it. I rinsed it out- read above- see there, I told you! People- guts in a paper sack caught my three hour cooked chicken on fire!!!

So I ordered a pizza from the Hut for dinner- Mac liked it better than chicken anyway- and the next day I went to the local fire station and had my fire extinguisher refilled- at no charge- Mac liked the fire trucks anyway!


Story B- Why I'm Pizza Hut's best customer
First, a disclaimer: I was raised by a mama who is a true southern cook and I think I can count on one hand the number of times she fixed stuff that wasn't from scratch. We never had food from a box or frozen or instant. So the world of pre-made was all new to me when I was in my own apartment.

A few days after the chicken incident, I decided to fix a frozen pizza for Mac and myself. This is merely a few days later, by the way. DAYS...

Not too tough, right? Pre-heat oven, open, place on cookie sheet, set timer and then take out and eat it. Okay, I did all those things. But when I took it out of the oven, it didn't look right. The cheese wasn't all melted. And the crust looked...funny. So, back into the oven for a little bit went the pizza.

Well, umm, I let it bake a little while longer and when it had been in for about 45 minutes and then I opened the oven door, it burst into flames. I am NOT fucking kidding you at all. Flames. So, needless to say I grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. Again. For the second time in three times.

Flames in my kitchen. Again. Well... I cannot believe I didn't get evicted.

Then I called my mom. Hey, that is what every girl in this situation would do. And it was her fault I caught it on fire in the first place- if she had been a mother who didn't like to cook us homemade food that was delicious and yummy, then I would know what to do with a frozen pizza out of a box. In talking with mama, I learned that frozen pizzas come with a cardboard circle under the crust.

I ask you- who does this? Was this public knowledge? I didn't know there was cardboard there! When I unwrapped it and placed it on the pan, it never dawned on me to TURN IT OVER to see if there was cardboard or some other foreign substance stuck to the pizza- I expected nothing but, oh, say, pizza crust!!!! There was no warning label on the packaging saying "remove cardboard circle." Damn it, twice in one week I caught a meal on fire. Damn it, twice in one week I caught my oven on fire.

So, I ordered a pizza from the 'Hut, as I am prone to do when I catch the food on fire- it was becoming a tradition of sorts. Mac liked it better than frozen anyway. The next day Mac and I went to the fire station to get the extinguisher refilled- also a bit of a tradition. Mac liked to play with the firetrucks. The same firemen were there- don't these guys ever go home? Why couldn't I have a different set of firemen? Anyway, usually the fire fighters charge for a second re-fill but when they heard the story of the pizza, so closely on the heels of the "flaming chicken" story...Um, let's say it was a complimentary fill up. I don't think the guys had the heart to charge me for it...At least that is what I think they were trying to tell me though their hysterical laughter.

And that stuff in the extinguisher is a real bitch to clean up. It is oh so yucky.

Well there you have it. Cooking tips from Mags- watch tomorrow for part 2. Oh, and feel free to stop by for dinner some night and I'll fix us up some nice vittles...How brave are you?

Julia Child I wasn't,
Maggie

Weekend wrap up- aka: "I have muscles in my butt, and they hurt!"

Back in December 2005 the following happened:

The coffeehouse chain I worked for laid me off because they were going under + the house I was living in needed to be vacated ASAP due to rodents = me putting everything I own in a "U Store It" facility. And I moved home with my parents.

This was supposed to be a temporary thing. And it could've been if I didn't get a wild hair and decide to move to the Wild West. I found a job in northern Civilization pretty quickly, by the end of February. But I needed to save money for deposits and rent and utility hook ups before I moved up there so I stayed with my folks and commuted. Then, for those of you who've known me since I started blogging around this time, you might remember that I was thinking of quitting the new job and moving to Alaska with my then AlaskaSam but that fell through. Then I said to hell with it, quit the new job and moved to the Wild West.

When I moved West I only took what would fit in my car because, I reckoned, if I didn't like living there, then I would've have double moving expenses: there and back. So my stuff stayed in storage. And I stayed in the Wild West for 2.5 years. And occasionally I would ask Daddy-O to mail me something and he would trek to the building and get it and mail it. I was never sure if I wanted to stay in the Wild West so I never brought my stuff out- talk about commitment issues!

So now I'm back and living again with my dad and my stuff has been in storage all this time. And this weekend was beautiful and Curley and her hubby had a free weekend so we grabbed their flatbed trailer and their suburban and Daddy-O's car and we spent all day unloading my storage building so I could stop paying rental fees. And we hauled it about 50 miles home and unloaded it all into Daddy-O's garage. It took 2 trips. I have a LOT of stuff... LOTS. I had furnished a 2 bedroom condo prior to storing it all so you can imagine the vast quantity of crap I had sitting in there, in boxes.

Now it's all sitting in the garage.

Now it's all sitting in the garage with all the crap I brought home in my U-Haul (remember the Redneck Movin' Incident?) when I moved back here that's also been sitting in my Daddy-O's garage. Oh. My. Goddess.... I wish to reiterate that I have LOTS of crap!

And I'm preparing for the World's Largest Rummage Sale. I'm going through every box and making "keep it, toss it or rummage sale it" piles. After we moved stuff on Saturday I worked for another 3 hours, to start the sorting process. And if you want to buy it, I have it to sell: craft supplies, bedding, tablecloths and place mats, 10 place settings of Tea rose patterned Pfaltzcraft and a ton of matching pieces, everything for the kitchen, a bedroom suite, living room furniture, baby clothes, women's clothes, Christmas decorations, knick- knacks, picture frames, toys, games... if there was a person who wanted to furnish a house and didn't mind nice used stuff, then this would be the place because I'm getting rid of just about darn near everything.

I'm a nomad.

So Sunday morning I get up and my whole body hurt. I didn't realize that was so beyond out of shape. I have muscles in my butt that hurt and I have no earthly clue what I did that would make my butt hurt. And my right shoulder. I ache.

Now I thought I could stay home today and work in the garage since I'm shooting for memorial day weekend at the world's largest rummage sale. But Curley and I had made plans to see a movie and have lunch. So off we went!

After lunch we arrive at the movie theater to be met in the parking lot by the entire theater staff. Apparently the theater was without power. The electric company told them it could be an easy fix and they could show the second set of matinees or it would be a tough fix and be off all day. If we waited to see if the second matinee would be shown, we had 3 hours to kill. Or we could drive the 40 minutes to the next town over and still make the same movie. So we did do the drive so we could see the flick.

We saw Ghosts of Girlfriends Past which was cute and funny, and occasionally made fun of itself. Matt McConaughey isn't bad on the eyes, either. And Jennifer Garner is fun to watch. and I think I've Connor Mead (McConaughey's character) feels the same way I do about love- well, until the end. And you can read my review of it here!

And now here I am. Tired and still with sore butt muscles- mostly on the right side, too... what's up with that? Anyway, and I'm ready to tackle the garage and my wonderful world of crap.

Hope ya'll had great weekends too! I'll be stopping by to catch up on my blog reading over the next few days!

Did I mention my knees hurt, too?
Mags

Okay, it doesn't mean you WILL die, it just means you COULD die...sheesh!

One of the school systems where I sub here in Civilization had a "swine flu" issue. Apparently a student on the shared middle and high school campus was out sick and is being tested for the Swine flu. Because of many things (the scare, the politics, needing to disinfect the school buildings, health precautions, pissed off parents, paranoia, the health department, the CDC, the WHO, et al) students were dismissed early and school was canceled for the next day, pending the results of the test performed on the student who might have it. This seems to be happening all over the USA, but mostly in Texas, New York, and California.

First, letting all things here at "shoes/ purses" be all about me, I was so pissed because I was scheduled to sub all day BOTH days, one of them being in my favourite classroom with my favourite group of kids- and because of the POSSIBILITY of the Swine Flu, I'm missing out on $$$$$$$!!! That sucks!!!!! Can I have a loan?

Second, letting it all be about humor here at "shoes/purse", I have to say this. I was working in the two buildings on the first day, and when the announcement was made about the early dismissal I was between buildings so I missed it. I walked into the middle school and was immediately accosted by what is starting to be my own "fan club" (the aforementions favourite group of kids)- a ragtag group of struggling kids who have a hard knocked life who think I'm cool and "make learning easy to ... ya know, like, learn" <-- that, my dear readers, is a direct quote from Kevin and Curtis. Okay, so, these kids- boys and girls- corner me in the hallway with hugs, high 5s, hip bumps, jive handshakes (GAWD, is the word "jive" even used any more?), air kisses, and requests to "pound it"- which means tapping closed fists. We go through this whole entire physical ritual when the kids then tell me they are going home because there's an outbreak of the pig disease at their school. I used this as a teachable moment and corrected the vernacular that is was "swine flu" not pig disease, and that we didn't have an outbreak, and explained what an outbreak was. And I was thrilled it was the day they decided to have a hands on approach to saying hello to me... GRE-at! Especially since they had all just been told to avoid having physical contact with each other!!!!!!!! Grrrr!!!!!

Another funny thing was just heard in the hallway. I was walking to a classroom and I hear a teacher from another room saying to his class: "Um, no, wait a minute, you guys. Swine flu is totally different than mad cow disease- calm down!" *I giggled* I just LURVE middle school age kids.

And instead of kids- high school AND middle school age kids, take note- running around hollering about cooties- they would touch each other, run away, and "Oink." Ah yes, public education in action, my friends.

Finally (thirdly for those of you who're countin'), letting all things be about education here at "shoes/purses" I have compiled a list of information about the Swine Flu and some useful links.

• Swine Influenza aka swine flu, is a respiratory disease of pigs caused by influenza viruses. Usually people do not normally get swine flu, but human infections can and do happen- obviously.
• Swine IS contagious and is spreading among people. It can be spread like any other flu viruses: through coughing or sneezing of people who have the flu. Sometimes people may become infected by touching something with flu viruses on it and then touching their mouth or nose. And you CANNOT get the Swine Flu by eating pork products!
• Germs can be spread when a person touches something that is contaminated with germs and then touches the eyes, nose, or mouth. Drops from a cough or sneeze of an infected person are airborne so germs can be spread when a person touches the drops from another person on a surface like a desk and then touches their own face before washing their hands.
• There are ways to avoid getting the Swine Flu- or at least, they could be considered safety precautions. Most importantly: wash your hands. Get lots of sleep, be active, manage stress in a healthy way, drink plenty of fluids, and eat nutritious food. Try not touch surfaces that may be contaminated with the flu virus. Avoid close contact with people who are sick.
  
• Because the H1N1 Swine flu Virus is new to the US, it is treatable if detected in time, usually within 2-3 days of the presence of symptoms and is treated with medication known as Tamiflu, which is aplenty in the USA, as of now.
  

My information, which I consider pretty credible, was found at the CDC website, WebMD, and the World Health Organization. (As a good English teacher I should use APA or MLA format to cite the sources, but consider the links and site names the source this time, please!)

Now the WHO had confirmed that what we have is the potential for a pandemic- which is a world wide epidemic, rather than just a plain old epidemic (which is a spread of sickness in a general location to a large number of people), and is urging states to get their pandemic plans into action.

I'll let you all know if our student has it. Guess if that kid does, ya'll will know it because it'll be splashed all over the news since only 109 confirmed cases are in the US, and one death- we might be pretty well known 'round these parts for spreading the "pig disease." So, stay healthy!

In the words of Sergeant Phil Esterhaus of Hill Street Blues: "Be careful out there." Otherwise, 'nuff said.

And this is a public service message is brought to you by your bacon loving,
Dr. Maggie

(okay I'm not really a doctor, I just play one on the Internet)