Since Matt's injury I have been doing 99% of the cooking. Why not 100%? That's b/c Matt can still get stuff out of the fridge for me.
Last night, I decided to bake a little chicken in the oven. The recipe says to cut red potatoes in half, toss in olive oil w/ pepper and salt and put on a baking sheet. Then nestle the chicken amongst the potatoes. Drizzle it will a little O.O and hit it with some salt and pepper. Then put 1/4c. thyme leaves all over everything.
It's a one pan meal, can't beat that huh? I really do not like to cook not b/c I am no good. I am actually a pretty good cook; Matt likes what he eats. Although he is like a catfish; he'll eat anything. I am a good cook to him. I do not like to cook b/c of the mess that follows. Remember we live in a circa 1950's house, built before dryer hook-ups and dishwashers. This means all dishes must be meticulously cleaned by hand. I hate cleaning up after dinner. I will cook all day if it means I do not have to do the cleaning.
Ok, back to my baked chicken dinner. Chicken and the potatoes are ready for the oven. I put them in and after about 5 minutes I notice a very familiar smell.
I grew up in Keystone, Oklahoma. For those of you not familiar; it's the lake west of Tulsa. There wasn't much out there when I was growing up, so the smell of grass fires in the summer was a staple to living in the country. (side note: I loved it out there) I have a nose like a bird dog, this fascinating feature of mine drives Matt silly b/c I can smell if something is bad before it is actually bad, i.e. milk & meat.
I begin walking the house w/ my nose in the air in order to better pick up the scent. I head down the hall, nothing.
Matt asks, "What are you doing?"
I respond while in deep smell, "I smell something. It smells like something either in the house or outside is on fire. It smells like a grass fire."
He puts his nose in the air, but he doesn't have the "gift."
"I don't smell anything." He chimes.
"I do, something is burning." Now I am starting to kind of get nervous, but my nose leads me to the obvious. THE OVEN!!
Matt says, "Did you take the leaves off of the thyme?"
"Well, that's the grass fire you smell. You are burning little trees in the oven!"
Like an idiot, "OHHHH!"
I pull the sizzling chicken out of the oven and take the burnt brush off of the chicken. Luckily I had more thyme left, so I remove the leaves, sprinkle them over the food and put everyone back in the oven.
Timer goes off and hour later. I go to remove the food and I realize the potatoes look not quite right. I had forgotten to stir them half way through roasting. The chicken had a burnt, crispy skin to it. I had forgotten to spoon the juices over it half way through roasting. It wasn't like the turkey on Christmas Vacation thank goodness. The inside was still moist and juicy. Now the potatoes, they were like the turkey; almost a hollow shell of a potato.
"That was really good babe. The potatoes were a little tough, but once you got through the outer layer they were perfect." Says my supportive and hungry husband. I ate it all anyway, there was already a small mess in the kitchen.