Some kinda Chicken Parm

Oh boy.

Thinking I was free and clear of kitchen disasters, I got a little cocky.

Imagining yourself as a culinary goddess who can whip up some tasty cuisine, whilst pouring your boyfriend a glass of wine for a relaxing evening on the couch with a movie is a bad assumption.

At least when you are me.

Last night I set out to make herb chicken parm. I texted him that dinner was at 8. I then went for a run and came home to start prepping. I thought I had it all timed perfectly.

But this is the scene he walked into:

Me: Still in work out clothes, dripping sweat.

The microwave is beeping because the sauce is done cooking. The pasta is boiling  over vigerously. The chicken is sizzling on the stove and needs to be attended to.

I grab the sauce out of the microwave. Pour it over the chicken. Go looking for the cheese to top the chicken with and then I hear it.

Fire. Fire. Beep beep beep. There is a Fire. beep beep beep.

The fire alarm in my apartment works, folks. And it’s LOUD. And it talks.

There wasn’t a fire, but the angel hair pasta had burnt to the bottom of the saucepan that I had used (bad choice as in reality, it was too small for so many noodles.)

Boyfriend: Babe, what’s burning.

Me: (in snappy tone. ) NOTHING is burning. (By nothing, I meant nothing that we really needed to eat. I mean, who really needs the noodles at the bottom of the pan?!)

Gertie, bless her, is terrified of the alarm and is cowering.

Boyfriend is trying to turn the frickin’ thing off and open the patio door.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to convince myself that nothing is going wrong as I throw the chicken in the oven and start the broccoli.

Boyfriend grabs the saucepan with the noodles (that I have now gotten the non-burned ones out of and into collinder.)

(By the way, this is all in about 30 seconds of time.)

He takes the stinky pan outside. I continue with the meal and finally plate it.

It was good, but a huge mess and very stressful.

Luckily (for her, not me), Roomie was working late. She returned long after the storm.

I tell her about the fiasco and her response really summed it up:

Wow, that must have been some kind of chicken parm!


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