Spaghetti

 There was an incident. In the kitchen. Again. For those who are intimate with my culinary talents, this comes as no surprise. While I am a very good cook, things have a tendency to go sideways. Sideways, upwards, downwards, and pretty much wherever else.

Using the stand mixer? The side of the fridge has sampled many batters and loose doughs. I'm not the only one, mind you, Tammie had a cocoa explosion a while back and we're STILL finding evidence of it.

But the incidents do not hinder me from trying new things. Things like the Instant Pot. Mind you, I was opposed to drinking from that cuppa koolaid. Everyone I knew had one and loved it, but I was not about to shell out the dough for yet another damn appliance to clutter up the counter. Until we found a recipe for something wonderful and discovered that our old stovetop pressure cooker was no longer pressure cookering. Not even with a new gasket. It was something in the thing-a-ma-doo-dad. I couldn't even coax it into working with the promise of a new flux capacitor. Doing some research for a new cooker, we discovered the dreaded Instant Pots were now on a very good sale and our stove is having some issues being a stove, so perhaps we can make this work.

So, we said "cheers" and clinked the cups and quaffed the koolaid. Ok, we put it in the cart and shelled out the cash. We took it home, used it once, and fell in love. Then I made macaroni and cheese in it, and we both surrendered ourselves to the wonders that is the Instant Pot. I do most of my cooking that way (even spare ribs!) and it's not just because the stove doesn't like stoving any more.

It was spaghetti night and I figured, "what the hell. If I can cook elbow macaroni in this thing, I can surely cook spaghetti in it."

Elbow macaroni, when put in an Instant Pot, is a friendly pasta. It sits where you put it, and stirs nicely when you need to get things mixed up. It is quiet, and doesn't want to bother you when it's done.

Spaghetti noodles? Yeah, not so much. I put the water in the pot, and because I didn't want the noodles to soak in water while I finished prepping the veggies, I put everything in backwards. Water, veggies, noodles... Noodles. NOODLES!

No. The noodles did NOT wish to join the veggies in the bath. They would get one end into the water, then refuse to bow their heads for the lid. "The stupid veggies are in the way," the noodles whined. So I broke them in half and dropped them into the pot. They...fit. Sort of. The veggies were still in the water, and the noodles were not. I grabbed a spoon and began stirring. It was like sticking a spoon into a bowl of grasshoppers. Angry, ARMED grasshoppers. Noodle pieces were flying EVERYWHERE! I have noodle bits on the floor, on the kittie's stool, I'm pretty sure a couple pieces landed in my hair, and I know at least three of them tried to take out my eyesight, but my glasses saved the day.

Noodles were angry. Noodles no like spoon stir. Noodles kill!

I gave up. I tossed in a little more water, poured a bit of oil over the dry pasta, and all the hopes of my heart, because none of those noodles were in water. I had no idea what was going to come out of that pot once the timer went off. Five minutes cook time, then it was time for a quick release.

I fucking hate quick release. It's not so bad with some things, but pasta? Yikes, it starts out nice and clean, then WHAMMO! white, starchy, oily water is being sprayed around my kitchen like the noodles were having one last stab at ruining my day. I put the stirring spoon over the vent, but it was a slotted spoon, which simply divided the geyser into several parts, which bedecked more areas of my kitchen. Thinking quickly, I grabbed the nearest thing within reach, the silicone (and mostly useless) pot holders that came with the Instant Pot. 

No. No, no, no. Think garden hose when you put a finger over it. 360 degrees lateral spray of steamy spaghetti water. So I snagged the dish towel and dropped it over the damn thing. Success! It hissed and seethed, but it was no longer bedecking my domicile with the sticky, oily, nasty. 

While I was waiting for the hissing to stop, I though, "Oh, I can use this corner of the towel to clean off the top of the salt and pepper shakers.

Despite the towel being thin and permeable, when I raised the corner to wipe the lid of the salt shaker, steam rushed out and grabbed my hand. So of course, I did it again, after all, the pepper shaker was still funky and my first thought was, "Whyyyyyy?"

There was still the question of whether or not dinner was even going to be edible. I carefully opened the lid. Lo and behold, the pasta was perfectly cooked. There were clumps that needed a good, gentle stirring, but the fight had gone out of the food and I was able to get it all separated and looking grand. Sauced it, seasoned it and I was ready for food! That's when I realized I'd forgotten to take the rolls out of the freezer for the garlic bread. 

Yes, I did burn myself using the toaster oven.

Bonk! Bonk! Who's There?

 It was one of those mornings. Not for me, for Tammie. I was blissfully snoring the cobwebs off the ceiling, but the chihuahuas were restless and ready to get going. It was also the lovely hour of 04:30. Or maybe it was 05:00. Does it matter? I think not. I was asleep.

Tammie, on the other hand, had given up on all attempts at calming said doggos and hauled herself out of bed. She set Douglas-of-the-Wait-What-Are-You-Doing? on the floor, grabbed Teeny-of-the-small-bladder and headed for the front door. Douglas usually follows, because despite his reluctance to leave the warm bed, his bladder is also on the small side and as soon as he's awake, it's time to pee.

When she got to the front door, she wondered where Douglas was. There was no saucy-walking little prince hot on her heels. She looked around and asked, "Where's Douglas?" He licked her cheek from his position tucked tenderly in the crook of her arm.

"You're not Teeny," Tammie said, putting the little darling outside before going in search of the other tiny-bladdered beast. At the bedroom door, she could hear snuffling and snorting from underneath and gently swung the door open.

"Teeny?" she whispered into the dark room. Not that Teeny could hear her over the snoring from the bed, but that didn't daunt her from trying again. "Teeny?" As she stood in the darkened room, she could feel something bonking against the open door. Looking down at her feet, she saw nothing, so she peered behind the door. Lo and behold, there was Teeny, trapped between the door and wall, using her head like a curb-feeler as she tried finding her way out.

Bonk! Bonk! Bonk!

Mind you, this is NOT how the story was related to me later that morning. It took a very long time and was punctuated with many snorts, giggles, and long streaks of guffaws at the little dog's expense. It sounded something like this:

"I couldn't...hee hee hee...I couldn't...hee hee, hahahahaha, hoo boy! Anyway,...ok, ... hang on... hee hee hee *snort* I thought I had... ahhahahahahahaha! ohmygod Bonk! Bonk! BWAAAHAHAHAHA!..." and so on.

In other animal news, there are two kittens that were born under the neighbor's house. We made friends with the mother cat and a friend of ours managed to trap her and take her home. He got her to the vet where she was checked out and spayed, and now lives the life of a very pampered and well-loved house cat. The "babies," however, were still too skittish to join their mom (they were fully weaned and nearly as big as their momma when this went down), so Tammie has been doing her Snow White thing and drawing them into a sense of security. Foolish little things. But she's able to pet them both when she brings them gushy fuuds in the morning and evening. Seriously, those little feral goobers eat better than our own spoiled elder cats.

But this morning, I needed to take out the trash. I wasn't thinking when I opened the back door and was greeted with the alarming sound of something crashing and thumping around on the slick deck. Seconds later, one of the kittens managed to get down the ramp and give me the hairy eyeball of doom. Poor kitty had done a total Scooby-Doo, trying to run four ways at once when she realized it wasn't Tammie exiting the house.

Relating this story to Tammie, however, sounded nothing like what I've written here. It sounded a lot like, "wheeeze, holy shit! Did you hear that? wheeeze, giggle-snort, ohgawdI'mdying! Thump-thump-thumpity-thump, pahdump-pahdump-pahdump! hahahahahahaha! Scooby-Dooooo! hahahahaha..."

At least we're constantly working on our communication skills, although it's more like translating foley noises into speech.