Now we've "bedded-in" the new kitchen, the disasters have been fewer. There are more surfaces in the kitchen, the ovens (now we've worked out the controls) is reliable, the induction hob heats the pans when I remember to use the right ones and the gadgets all work. Ok, the smoke alarm still tells me when the food is cooked, but that's just a cooking alarm.
---
Would you believe that Asda sell steel pans that aren't suitable for induction hobs? Me neither, but they do! There was I, frantically trying to make the hob work with a brand new steel pan, but it kept switching off! It wasn't until I replaced it with a different (and more expensive) steel pan that the hob accepted it!
---
The light in our microwave oven has failed. It makes checking on custard a bit tricky, and leads to me opening the microwave every few seconds to check on it, which seems to significantly increase the cooking time, well past what the instructions say microwaving times should be.
---
I had a slight adventure with the fan oven. I was cooking (heating frozen) pizzas for three of us, and I wanted the pizzas all to be ready at the same time. The pizzas all had different cooking times listed in the instructions, so I put the "11-13 minute" pizza at the top of the oven, just under the heating element, the "10-12 minute" pizza in the middle of the oven and the "8-10 minute" pizza on a pizza tray at the bottom of the oven. For once I had preheated the oven to 180 degrees C, so I was confident about serving the pizzas all at the same time, perfectly cooked.
When I returned to the oven, after 10 minutes, I noticed that there was a little smoke blowing out of the top corner, like a tiny steam engine funnel. On opening the oven, there was a billowing of smoke, setting off the smoke alarm, and the smell of burning cheese.
The top pizza was a very deep brown.
The middle pizza was ok.
The bottom pizza was still cold.
The top pizza was so bad that my daughter would only eat one slice. We had to throw the rest away. It was so bad that even the cats wouldn't eat it, and they are demons for cheese!
I have learned from this that I should leave more than an eighth of an inch between the heating element and the top pizza, even when the fan is supposed to be circulating the heat.
---
Pork steaks last weekend. I like to cook pork steaks, as I can prod them with a fork and pretend that I'm actually doing something impressive by smearing honey, mixed Italian herbs and maple syrup on them. However, these pork steaks were thinner than usual, with a recommended cooking time of 10-12 minutes instead of 16-18 minutes. I cooked one side for 5 minutes, flipped them over, completely forgot to marinade (is that what it's called when I spread & sprinkle stuff on them), and waited for the next 5 minutes. I gave it a minute extra, because you never know with pork.
I approached the oven and the smoke alarm went off. I hadn't even reached the oven! It must have been waiting for me!
On opening the oven, I realised that the pork steaks were brown and crispy, like thick strips of crispy bacon. I served them upside down, in the hope that my other half wouldn't notice the overcooking, but she commented immediately. Perhaps it was the tooth-loosening crunch as she bit into the pork steak that gave her the hint as to them being a bit overdone.
---
The kitchen window is one of those fancy tilt / side jobs, opening one way for a tilt and the other way for a wide aperture to be used as a fire escape. Ok, we can't use it as a fire escape because we forgot about the window when we bought new taps and so the window fouls against it and only opens about 18 inches, but if there was a fire I think we won't care if we damage the window and tap in our hurry to get out of the window.
Anyway, after the pork steaks, I tilted the window to let the smoke escape.
The following morning, my partner went into the kitchen to make coffee or something, and she found that her jars of muesli, oats, saltanas and raisins had all poured their contents into the sink. It appears that I had opened the window the wrong way, and the wind had caught it in the night, opening it hard against the tap and swiping all the jars off the windowsill.
---
That's it for now. Back soon with more disasters as they happen.
Monday, 13 May 2013
Monday, 3 September 2012
Our new oven might be too complicated
A crossposting from Facebook
For a Sunday roast dinner today, M decided on roast lamb. After cooking it for an hour, she went to check on its status only to realise that she had heated the wrong oven, so it hadn't cooked at all. It would have taken too long to roast it, so she made us mince & mash instead.
She decided to cook it for dinner instead. SHE HEATED THE WRONG OVEN AGAIN! I fried some sausages for our tea.
She decided to cook it for dinner instead. SHE HEATED THE WRONG OVEN AGAIN! I fried some sausages for our tea.
Tuesday, 29 May 2012
Service Will Soon Be Resumed
I haven't posted anything for a while. This is not because I have suddenly discovered how to cook, rather it's that our kitchen has been completely gutted and replaced.
It has taken a couple of months, and has gone through quite a transformation.
The first photo is a view of the room when we purchased the house. It doesn't show limitations of the room, such as the fact that the peninsular legs were loose, the work top varnish was chipped and partially missing, the boiler was embedded a few inches lower than the tiled floor partially in the gap where the fireplace used to be, the hot water cylinder was in the cupboard to the right and the fronts for all of the cabinets was cracked and perishing.
The kitchen has gone from this:
through this:
to this:
Now that we have a working kitchen again, which has more work space and more cabinets, I can recommence cookistry. The kitchen now has an induction hob and the new oven has many controls that I don't understand, both of which increase the possibility of future cookery disasters.
Although I haven't yet cooked in the new kitchen, my partner Doris has already had a couple of disasters ...
Yesterday, she baked bread. Hers was the disaster a few months ago when she forgot to add water to the bread mix. She didn't forget that, this time. However, the bread machine has been in storage while the kitchen has been replaced, and she neglected to check that the paddle insert was still inside the machine. After 5 hours of baking, she went to extract the freshly-baked bread and discovered that there had been no kneading, so the bread was a mass of unmixed (but cooked) ingredients.
This is what the paddle is supposed to look like:
We are now searching for where the paddle has disappeared to. We shall continue to hunt for it until we give up and buy a new one, on which day we will find it and then have a spare, which we shall store "somewhere safe" and never see again.
This evening, she made smoothies. She hasn't been able to make smoothies since I've known her, due to lack of workable space. With the kitchen replacement, she is now able to easily retrieve all of her gadgets. This is a photo of the model of smoothie maker that she has.
The smoothie-making went perfectly, and she poured mine out. She wanted to fill my glass to the brim, but the tap on the smoothie maker is slightly too low for the pint glass that she had selected for me. Therefore, she lifted the perspex jug from the motorised base in order to position it over my glass and pour out more smoothie.
The perspex jug is semi-permanently affixed to a plastic housing that contains the blending blades. The fixing utilises an extremely tight-fitting grommet. The smoothie maker hasn't been used in years, and the grommet had, unbeknownst to Doris, become slightly dislodged. In regular operation, this was not a problem, but when the grommet had to take the entire weight of the smoothie, the joint failed.
Or, as Doris herself explained "The bottom fell off!"
At her shouted request that I collect my smoothie while she cleaned up the kitchen, I went to the kitchen to find the new peninsular work top covered in purple smoothie. The base of the smoothie maker was also covered in purple smoothie, as was the cabinet door, the whole of the new marmoleum kitchen floor, Doris's shoes, Doris's legs and Doris's dress. It was a mess!
At least I had most of a pint of smoothie. Doris was wearing and standing in hers.
When I start cooking again, I will continue to post my disasters. I have successfully got out of the habit of cooking, though, and we have found some lovely restaurants near to us while we've had no kitchen, so it might be a while until I'm persuaded to get back in the kitchen and try to remember everything that I've learned about not making silly mistakes.
It has taken a couple of months, and has gone through quite a transformation.
The first photo is a view of the room when we purchased the house. It doesn't show limitations of the room, such as the fact that the peninsular legs were loose, the work top varnish was chipped and partially missing, the boiler was embedded a few inches lower than the tiled floor partially in the gap where the fireplace used to be, the hot water cylinder was in the cupboard to the right and the fronts for all of the cabinets was cracked and perishing.
The kitchen has gone from this:
Now that we have a working kitchen again, which has more work space and more cabinets, I can recommence cookistry. The kitchen now has an induction hob and the new oven has many controls that I don't understand, both of which increase the possibility of future cookery disasters.
Although I haven't yet cooked in the new kitchen, my partner Doris has already had a couple of disasters ...
Yesterday, she baked bread. Hers was the disaster a few months ago when she forgot to add water to the bread mix. She didn't forget that, this time. However, the bread machine has been in storage while the kitchen has been replaced, and she neglected to check that the paddle insert was still inside the machine. After 5 hours of baking, she went to extract the freshly-baked bread and discovered that there had been no kneading, so the bread was a mass of unmixed (but cooked) ingredients.
This is what the paddle is supposed to look like:
This evening, she made smoothies. She hasn't been able to make smoothies since I've known her, due to lack of workable space. With the kitchen replacement, she is now able to easily retrieve all of her gadgets. This is a photo of the model of smoothie maker that she has.
The smoothie-making went perfectly, and she poured mine out. She wanted to fill my glass to the brim, but the tap on the smoothie maker is slightly too low for the pint glass that she had selected for me. Therefore, she lifted the perspex jug from the motorised base in order to position it over my glass and pour out more smoothie.
The perspex jug is semi-permanently affixed to a plastic housing that contains the blending blades. The fixing utilises an extremely tight-fitting grommet. The smoothie maker hasn't been used in years, and the grommet had, unbeknownst to Doris, become slightly dislodged. In regular operation, this was not a problem, but when the grommet had to take the entire weight of the smoothie, the joint failed.
Or, as Doris herself explained "The bottom fell off!"
At her shouted request that I collect my smoothie while she cleaned up the kitchen, I went to the kitchen to find the new peninsular work top covered in purple smoothie. The base of the smoothie maker was also covered in purple smoothie, as was the cabinet door, the whole of the new marmoleum kitchen floor, Doris's shoes, Doris's legs and Doris's dress. It was a mess!
At least I had most of a pint of smoothie. Doris was wearing and standing in hers.
When I start cooking again, I will continue to post my disasters. I have successfully got out of the habit of cooking, though, and we have found some lovely restaurants near to us while we've had no kitchen, so it might be a while until I'm persuaded to get back in the kitchen and try to remember everything that I've learned about not making silly mistakes.
Monday, 23 January 2012
Is it ok to ignore heating instructions?
New - with photographs!
I have said before how much I like Uncle Ben's Microwave Risotto Rice. It cooks a lovely risotto in 2 minutes and 40 seconds, which is far more my style than stirring rice in a pan constantly for 45 minutes, carefully adding a couple of drops of stock every few seconds.
The last time I zapped a microwave risotto, I had a bit of an accident. Our microwave has a removable grill tray which I usually remove before cooking anything. This time, I neglected to remove it, and the packet of rice got caught in the element at the top of the microwave, tipping it over. When it had finished, I found the base of the microwave covered in nicely-cooked risotto, which I had to bin.
This time, I opened the microwave, took out the grill tray, closed the microwave, opened a cupboard, took a measuring jug from the cupboard, filled the measuring jug with 100ml of water, opened the risotto sachet, poured the water into the sachet, put the sachet into the opened cupboard, tried to work out why I couldn't find the controls to cook it.
After I told Doris what I had done, and she laughed, I decided that a photograph was in order, so I had to set it again to take a photo:
and where the microwave is in relation to this cupboard. I didn't miss by much!
I put the rice in the microwave and started cooking. In the meantime, I wondered whether to have any protein with it. After a quick search of the fridge, I found some frankfurters. Looking at the back of the pack, I saw that the instructions claimed 30 seconds in a 850W microwave for 2 frankfurters, or 1:30 for 4 frankfurters. I did not believe this, but I cooked 4 frankfurters for 1:30 anyway. At 1 minute, they started to pop and explode, so I decided that they were cooked and that the instructions must have been wrong.
To get proof of the wrongness of the instructions, I took a photo. Hey - I have a camera in my phone, so I might as well use it!
Hmmm ... if you look at the full-sized photo, you'll see that it actually says 1:10 at 850W. I must have been misreading the instructions. I wonder if this goes some way towards explaining my lack of cooking skills?
EDIT: In the future, I must remember to take the sachet out of the cupboard and throw it away after I've set up a photograph!
I have said before how much I like Uncle Ben's Microwave Risotto Rice. It cooks a lovely risotto in 2 minutes and 40 seconds, which is far more my style than stirring rice in a pan constantly for 45 minutes, carefully adding a couple of drops of stock every few seconds.
The last time I zapped a microwave risotto, I had a bit of an accident. Our microwave has a removable grill tray which I usually remove before cooking anything. This time, I neglected to remove it, and the packet of rice got caught in the element at the top of the microwave, tipping it over. When it had finished, I found the base of the microwave covered in nicely-cooked risotto, which I had to bin.
This time, I opened the microwave, took out the grill tray, closed the microwave, opened a cupboard, took a measuring jug from the cupboard, filled the measuring jug with 100ml of water, opened the risotto sachet, poured the water into the sachet, put the sachet into the opened cupboard, tried to work out why I couldn't find the controls to cook it.
After I told Doris what I had done, and she laughed, I decided that a photograph was in order, so I had to set it again to take a photo:
I put the rice in the microwave and started cooking. In the meantime, I wondered whether to have any protein with it. After a quick search of the fridge, I found some frankfurters. Looking at the back of the pack, I saw that the instructions claimed 30 seconds in a 850W microwave for 2 frankfurters, or 1:30 for 4 frankfurters. I did not believe this, but I cooked 4 frankfurters for 1:30 anyway. At 1 minute, they started to pop and explode, so I decided that they were cooked and that the instructions must have been wrong.
To get proof of the wrongness of the instructions, I took a photo. Hey - I have a camera in my phone, so I might as well use it!
EDIT: In the future, I must remember to take the sachet out of the cupboard and throw it away after I've set up a photograph!
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Expert Bread Baking
This instalment is just reported by me, not caused by me.
I was napping this afternoon, and Doris, my partner, made herself a sandwich for her tea. She used the last of the loaf that I baked yesterday, and so she did me a favour by baking a new loaf of wholemeal bread.
I was in the kitchen when the timer indicated that the loaf was done, and the kitchen had started to smell a little like bread, so I went to take the loaf out of the breadmaker to let it air.
It looked AWFUL! There was a small lump of dough in the middle of the breadmaker and a scraping of bread around the edge of the tin. A disaster worthy of this blog.
I went to get Doris, so that she could identify what had gone wrong. I asked her if she'd forgotten to add any yeast, but she confirmed that yeast had been added.
After looking at it, she tipped the whole lot into the bin, declaring "I know what I did wrong. I didn't add any water. I am a twonk"
EDIT: it's now 30 minutes later, and it is smelling more and more like bread. Ok, it's in the bin, but it's starting to smell good. I would be tempted to try it, if it hadn't already been thrown away!
I was napping this afternoon, and Doris, my partner, made herself a sandwich for her tea. She used the last of the loaf that I baked yesterday, and so she did me a favour by baking a new loaf of wholemeal bread.
I was in the kitchen when the timer indicated that the loaf was done, and the kitchen had started to smell a little like bread, so I went to take the loaf out of the breadmaker to let it air.
It looked AWFUL! There was a small lump of dough in the middle of the breadmaker and a scraping of bread around the edge of the tin. A disaster worthy of this blog.
I went to get Doris, so that she could identify what had gone wrong. I asked her if she'd forgotten to add any yeast, but she confirmed that yeast had been added.
After looking at it, she tipped the whole lot into the bin, declaring "I know what I did wrong. I didn't add any water. I am a twonk"
EDIT: it's now 30 minutes later, and it is smelling more and more like bread. Ok, it's in the bin, but it's starting to smell good. I would be tempted to try it, if it hadn't already been thrown away!
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Sandwich Time
We have a bread maker. It has various settings, and I've come a-cropper with them before, but I managed to successfully navigate its user interface yesterday and came out with a lovely loaf of soft-crust white bread in 2 hours!
It looked ideal for sandwiches, so after it cooled, I cut some slices.
Ok, the first slice was mobius-cut, so I cut another 4 slices to make sure it was just an anomaly. This meant that I had enough sliced bread for two rounds of sandwiches. I buttered the bread, thinking about fillings.
I looked in the fridge for processed meat. None.
I looked in the fridge for cheese. None.
Bugger.
Ok, I can make PB&J sandwiches. We have crunchy peanut butter in the cupboard, so I spread that over the slices. Now for the jam.
The jam in the fridge has a layer of mould on it. This isn't going well.
I root in the fridge for jam substitutes. Horseradish sauce, sun-dried tomatoes, mustard. None of those would be suitable substitutes.
I look in the cupboard for jam substitutes. Marmite, apple chutney, mint jelly. None of those would be suitable substitutes. I'm worried that I might end-up eating Peanut Butter sandwiches, and that thought fills me with dread, but I eventually find white chocolate spread and a tub of squeezable honey at the back of the cupboard. Those look promising.
I spread the white chocolate, and make one sandwich.
I try to squeeze the honey out of the squeeze tub. Nothing happens. I need to unscrew the lid and delve-in with my knife to get the honey out, and it's all crystallised.
Why is it that amphorae of honey can be retrieved from wrecks of Roman ships on the seabed after 2 millennia and are perfect, but leave a tub of honey in my cupboard for a few weeks and it's virtually unusable?
I scrape the crystals of honey over a slice of bread, and I eat the sandwiches.
They were rank!
It looked ideal for sandwiches, so after it cooled, I cut some slices.
Ok, the first slice was mobius-cut, so I cut another 4 slices to make sure it was just an anomaly. This meant that I had enough sliced bread for two rounds of sandwiches. I buttered the bread, thinking about fillings.
I looked in the fridge for processed meat. None.
I looked in the fridge for cheese. None.
Bugger.
Ok, I can make PB&J sandwiches. We have crunchy peanut butter in the cupboard, so I spread that over the slices. Now for the jam.
The jam in the fridge has a layer of mould on it. This isn't going well.
I root in the fridge for jam substitutes. Horseradish sauce, sun-dried tomatoes, mustard. None of those would be suitable substitutes.
I look in the cupboard for jam substitutes. Marmite, apple chutney, mint jelly. None of those would be suitable substitutes. I'm worried that I might end-up eating Peanut Butter sandwiches, and that thought fills me with dread, but I eventually find white chocolate spread and a tub of squeezable honey at the back of the cupboard. Those look promising.
I spread the white chocolate, and make one sandwich.
I try to squeeze the honey out of the squeeze tub. Nothing happens. I need to unscrew the lid and delve-in with my knife to get the honey out, and it's all crystallised.
Why is it that amphorae of honey can be retrieved from wrecks of Roman ships on the seabed after 2 millennia and are perfect, but leave a tub of honey in my cupboard for a few weeks and it's virtually unusable?
I scrape the crystals of honey over a slice of bread, and I eat the sandwiches.
They were rank!
Saturday, 2 July 2011
Poaching Eggs
Doris is away in Australia for 3 months. Therefore I'm not being stretched in the kitchenery department.
However, last night I watched Doris, over webcam, poach two eggs and serve them on toast. It took only a couple of minutes, and I saw her make a mistake, which she said was impatience at the time taken for the water to properly boil (so I'll remember that, and make sure I don't try to move too fast) but it was salvaged with the aid of a pasta spoon and nice to eat.
Ok, can I boil water without burning it, can I whirl a vortex and can I crack an egg? If I can do these things, I can poach an egg.
Off we go then! Water in saucepan ... check!
I then ground some salt into the pan, (I have no idea whether it's necessary for this, but I was taught to do it, so I always do).
Saucepan on the hob, with its lid on, over a high heat ... check!
Cut some bread, put it in the toaster ... check!
Wait for the water to boil, then start toasting the bread ... check!
Ok, now we have the technical part. "Whirl a vortex" is a fine phrase, but what does it actually mean?
I have a wooden spoon, and I can stir the water. I stop stirring, the water stops moving.
I stir faster, the water moves faster until I stop stirring and the water stops moving.
I stir hard-and-fast, I get splashed with boiling water, I stop stirring, the water stops moving.
How on earth do I create a vortex?
By now, the water is bubbling very vigorously, so I need to get the egg into there, but I have a wooden spoon in my hand. So I take my chances and crack an egg with my other hand, and it works! Ok, I have albumen all over my hand, but the yolk dropped into the pan, and the albumen drips into it from my hand, so that's a result!
Now, I have a yolk boiling and some albumen whitening in my saucepan. I examine it, but it doesn't look much like a poached egg. I wonder whether I'm supposed to keep stirring, so I stir the protein solution. The albumen starts to clump together, on the opposite side of the pan to where the yolk is rapidly hardening. I try to guide them together and just manage to unclump the albumen.
My yolk now looks hard-boiled, so I decide to serve. I can serve the yolk, but the albumen won't clump. I end-up serving a load of water along with a hard-boiled yolk onto one slice of toast.
Ok, that wasn't very successful. I can do better the next time. I have another piece of toast and another egg.
The saucepan still has lots of streaky albumen bits in it, but I'm sure that won't matter. This time, I will boil the water less vigorously and keep the water moving.
I wait until the water starts to boil. I start to stir.
I stir harder and faster. The water stops boiling.
I stop stirring, the water starts bubbling and stops moving.
Ok, perhaps the bubbling is stopping the water from keeping the vortex? Perhaps I need to keep stirring and not worry about the water not boiling?
I stir, I stir more, the water stops bubbling, the water swirls
I keep stirring.
I take the egg in my other hand and crack it. The yolk drops into the middle of saucepan and starts to migrate to the outside, followed by the albumen dripping through my fingers.
I now have a comet with a golden head swirling around in the water
The head breaks away. The yolk comes free, it quickly escapes to the other side of the pan. I keep stirring, trying to force the albumen to catch up by force of will.
It won't do it, Again, I have an egg yolk on one side of the pan and albumen on the other side.
This time I don't interfere with the albumen, so I can at least combine the yolk and the white on my piece of toast. I keep stirring, the pieces of egg keep moving.
The albumen breaks apart without any action from me. I've kept stirring! I can't fix it! The yolk is going all hard-boiled again! I need to finish this!
I stop stirring, fish-out the yolk and put it onto the toast. I notice that the other piece of toast has disintegrated due to water damage, so I don't risk serving albumen on the second piece of toast.
I eat one piece of toast with two hard-boiled egg yolks, and I didn't set off the smoke alarm. I suppose it's a success of sorts.
However, last night I watched Doris, over webcam, poach two eggs and serve them on toast. It took only a couple of minutes, and I saw her make a mistake, which she said was impatience at the time taken for the water to properly boil (so I'll remember that, and make sure I don't try to move too fast) but it was salvaged with the aid of a pasta spoon and nice to eat.
Ok, can I boil water without burning it, can I whirl a vortex and can I crack an egg? If I can do these things, I can poach an egg.
Off we go then! Water in saucepan ... check!
I then ground some salt into the pan, (I have no idea whether it's necessary for this, but I was taught to do it, so I always do).
Saucepan on the hob, with its lid on, over a high heat ... check!
Cut some bread, put it in the toaster ... check!
Wait for the water to boil, then start toasting the bread ... check!
Ok, now we have the technical part. "Whirl a vortex" is a fine phrase, but what does it actually mean?
I have a wooden spoon, and I can stir the water. I stop stirring, the water stops moving.
I stir faster, the water moves faster until I stop stirring and the water stops moving.
I stir hard-and-fast, I get splashed with boiling water, I stop stirring, the water stops moving.
How on earth do I create a vortex?
By now, the water is bubbling very vigorously, so I need to get the egg into there, but I have a wooden spoon in my hand. So I take my chances and crack an egg with my other hand, and it works! Ok, I have albumen all over my hand, but the yolk dropped into the pan, and the albumen drips into it from my hand, so that's a result!
Now, I have a yolk boiling and some albumen whitening in my saucepan. I examine it, but it doesn't look much like a poached egg. I wonder whether I'm supposed to keep stirring, so I stir the protein solution. The albumen starts to clump together, on the opposite side of the pan to where the yolk is rapidly hardening. I try to guide them together and just manage to unclump the albumen.
My yolk now looks hard-boiled, so I decide to serve. I can serve the yolk, but the albumen won't clump. I end-up serving a load of water along with a hard-boiled yolk onto one slice of toast.
Ok, that wasn't very successful. I can do better the next time. I have another piece of toast and another egg.
The saucepan still has lots of streaky albumen bits in it, but I'm sure that won't matter. This time, I will boil the water less vigorously and keep the water moving.
I wait until the water starts to boil. I start to stir.
I stir harder and faster. The water stops boiling.
I stop stirring, the water starts bubbling and stops moving.
Ok, perhaps the bubbling is stopping the water from keeping the vortex? Perhaps I need to keep stirring and not worry about the water not boiling?
I stir, I stir more, the water stops bubbling, the water swirls
I keep stirring.
I take the egg in my other hand and crack it. The yolk drops into the middle of saucepan and starts to migrate to the outside, followed by the albumen dripping through my fingers.
I now have a comet with a golden head swirling around in the water
The head breaks away. The yolk comes free, it quickly escapes to the other side of the pan. I keep stirring, trying to force the albumen to catch up by force of will.
It won't do it, Again, I have an egg yolk on one side of the pan and albumen on the other side.
This time I don't interfere with the albumen, so I can at least combine the yolk and the white on my piece of toast. I keep stirring, the pieces of egg keep moving.
The albumen breaks apart without any action from me. I've kept stirring! I can't fix it! The yolk is going all hard-boiled again! I need to finish this!
I stop stirring, fish-out the yolk and put it onto the toast. I notice that the other piece of toast has disintegrated due to water damage, so I don't risk serving albumen on the second piece of toast.
I eat one piece of toast with two hard-boiled egg yolks, and I didn't set off the smoke alarm. I suppose it's a success of sorts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)