Welcome to The Crabby Kitchen

Don't you hate it when a new recipe goes bad? When you get half-way through it and realize, "What the hell was I thinking even starting this?" Or, "is it too late to chuck this and dial Domino's?"

But it looked so easy when Robin Miller did it! I WATCHED her do it and thought, "oh, that's up my alley."

If I may go a bit retro on you..... NOT.

I loved Chicken Pot Pie as a kid. Being a latchkey kid of the late 70's and 80's, Swanson was a common site in our freezer. But it turns out there's something like 600 grams of fat in there. You may as well eat a Big Mac and a cupcake and get the same nutrition. As a kid, you can get away with that now and then. As an adult, just putting the thing into my cart makes my backside grow.

Ok, so the cooking. Robin cranked out her pot pie in no time. In fact, she cranked out TWO OTHER DISHES -- TWO!!! -- in the same show.

Me? Forever. And ever. One dish.

Then it came time to pour the concoction into a pie tin. Thankfully, those cheap-o aluminium tins from the grocery store come in multi-packs. I had enough for two pot pies. Luckily, the crusts come in two's as well.

I rolled out my crust, pinched it all up, then put it into my little toaster over that is also a regular oven that I like to use when something will fit in there since I think I'm being more energy-efficient.

I guess I didn't pinch up the crust all that well, because chunks fell off the sides and onto the hot coils and then started smoking. So out everything came, off went the little oven. Once everything was cleaned up, I tried again.

Urban Dad came in to check on when the heck we were eating to find me in front of a smoking oven and with every single pot, pan and bowl strewn about our limited counterspace.

"Go away," I said. "I love you, but you have to go away. I'll call you soon. But please, please go away and don't see this right now."

When I finally went to serve it up, it was a soupy, slippery mess. Not like Robin's. Not one bit.

*SIGH* Oh well. It was edible. Healthy enough -- chicken, potatoes, vegetables, etc. But it was a crabby undertaking for a crabby outcome.

And God love Urban Dad. He ate every bite and asked for seconds. He swore that it was fine, really, just maybe I should make stuff that's easier to throw together.

It was nice of him to say he liked it. Especially considering that second pie tin in the fridge, just waiting for a crust and to drop chunks of it onto the hot coils.

I lamented how bored he must be eating the same small rotation of things that I know how to do. He swears that he doesn't care. "Eating is overrated," he says. "If we want something new, we'll go out."

Tonight?

"Umm, soon. We can go soon, if you like."

I like.

So that was dinner. Add to that Urban Kid 1 currently riding a wave of rarely listening and always pushing the envelope of what she can get away with (hello? are we getting a staple removed from your head tomorrow from when you would not listen?) and Urban Kid 2 who wants to start to talk but who can only point and screech...loudly...and often... and I just started to lose it today. Oh and a case of PMS just to put icing on the cake. Hey, did I mention that it snowed again today in Chicago?

Ok, so it wasn't that bad.

Urban Dad is amazing. "It's ok, you deserve to be cranky. Want me to put the kids down and you can unwind? By the way, dinner was great."

I first planned to plunk on the couch to eat cookies and watch tv, but then decided no, I'm going to go visit my cyber-friends instead.

Ok, feeling better already. Really! I'll try to be back to my old self for the next post. I'll cook one of the tried-and-true's, refill my well of patience and shoot for a cheerier outlook.

Look, I'll even end on a happy thought: In the meantime, thank you for listening!