Every month or so we spotlight one of our members.
This time around, we feature a short piece by long time WCCW member Kim Vernon.
We hope you enjoy her work!
Detour on the Way to a Man’s Heart
I sure wished I’d paid more attention all those times Momma forced me to help in the kitchen. I’m perfectly content to eat Doritos or Frosted Flakes for dinner, but tonight I was cooking for my boyfriend for the first time. He seemed to think all girls could, and should, cook. So here I was, actually using the kitchen. And those pans Momma insisted I take when I moved off to college.
I peeled potatoes, a skill I had plenty of practice at, since Daddy thought potatoes were a primary food group. While potatoes boiled on one burner, green beans were hot and waiting on another.
I turned the chicken that sizzled in oil, cursing as the golden crunchy stuff fell off into the skillet and the grease splattered on my hand. The kitchen looked like a pack of wild dogs had gone through. I frantically wiped flour off the counter and stuffed dishes out of sight into the dishwasher. The oven beeped that it was hot. How in the world do people manage to get everything done at the same time? I think I’m going to cry!
I popped open the can and put the biscuits in the oven. The potatoes were cooked, but needed to be mashed right away. The chicken was starting to burn. Yikes. He’ll be here any minute.
There was a knock at the door. I jumped and dropped the tongs I was using to take up the chicken. They bounced twice, grease flying everywhere.
I let him in and suggested he find some music on the stereo while I finished up dinner. Lord, please don’t let him see this kitchen!
I spooned flour into the hot chicken grease for gravy. Surely that’s enough. I rescued the biscuits from the oven while they were still recognizable, mentally patting myself on the back. I alternated between stirring gravy and wiping up grease splatters.
Finally, everything was done and arranged in a motley assortment of serving dishes on the table. Thanks again to Momma’s insistence that I needed them. I’m exhausted!
“It looks great,” he declared. I had to admit, it didn’t look bad. I was pretty proud of myself.
We filled our plates. More crust fell off the chicken when we picked it up. The biscuits were a little hard, but edible. The green beans tasted like grass. He politely suggested they could’ve used a bit more seasoning, mentioning that his mother used bacon grease, onion and garlic. Well, I’m not your mother! How was I supposed to know I needed to add stuff to them? They sure didn’t tell me that on the can. Besides, where the heck was I supposed to get bacon grease, McDonalds?
I managed to maintain most of my dignity until he picked up the spoon I’d placed in the gravy. With a loud slurping sound, the entire bowl of gravy came up in one big bowl-shaped glump!
Bless his heart! He said, “Well, the gravy’s not runny.”