dumbass gourmet

Now that the semester is over and I am forcing myself to stop thinking about my thesis for a few days, I have a lot of free time. I choose to spend this time sitting on the couch watching the Food Network and secretly hating all these perky, skinny people who prance around their pristine kitchens calling green beans “haricot verts” and inviting their “friends” over for carefully staged dinners in which the guests do nothing but gush over how good everything is.

One of my favorite Food Network shows is “The Next Food Network Star,” which holds a special place in my heart since it brought the spiky-haired awesome that is Guy Fieri to the national consciousness. Contestants on this show get their own Food Network program if they win, so they come in with an idea of what they want. I got to thinking about that today while making lunch, and decided that my show would be called “Dumbass Gourmet.” (That’s a working title; The Husband and I agree that it’s hilarious but I am neither a dumbass nor a gourmet. Discuss.)

DG opens with my cluttered apartment kitchen, which still has remnants of the last show’s featured meal liberally splattered about. Someone has to come get me in the bedroom because I got caught up playing “The Sims” and forgot what time it was. Today we’re making some fettuccine with a butter-garlic sauce topped with broccoli and chicken that’s been marinating in the fridge since Christmas, so I get to work mincing a clove of garlic and chuck it in a pot along with some butter. But — oh crap! — I forgot that I only have one pot, so the garlic butter has to be scraped out so I can make the fettuccine first. But — oh crap again! — I didn’t check to see how much fettuccine we had before getting started, so I have to throw some spaghetti in there too so there’s enough pasta to go around.

OK, now we’re in business. That is, until I need the flour to thicken my butter-garlic sauce. This is where The Husband comes in, because the flour is in the cabinet over the refrigerator and I can’t reach it. He tends to stick around as I cook, because he knows that eventually I’ll get tired of whatever’s happening and wander off, leaving pots and pans to burn on the stove. But today I’m on the ball, expertly bouncing between the colander, Foreman Grill, and the stove, my bare feet crunching over the floor I forgot to vacuum. A slice here, a dice here, a dash of parmesan cheese, and voila!

Another dish that escaped ruination at the hands of Dumbass Gourmet. Tune in next time for Mexican Crap, a family favorite that is nearly impossible to screw up. We’ll have Papa John’s on standby, just in case.