the crucible of my culinary foundry, then it dawned on me - why in the #$%@ (h-e- double tooth pick) am I cooking?! Sorry for the swearing dear reader, but this sort of harsh language seems to rise in accordance with the thermometer. Yes dear reader, with sweat pouring down my body, I began to question my sanity as to why I even cranked up my oven last night at all, amidst three digit temperatures, this is just madness -- madness I tell you! It is said, "If you can't take the heat, then stay out of the kitchen!", and so I ran for cover into the family room where it was much cooler thanks to our little free standing rolling air-conditioning unit that I have dubbed "R2- D2." As I swooned there, waiting for the nausea to subside, my husband came into the room from the hallway and asked me if I was okay. I nodded, as he approached and then he was about to open the door to hell.
Me - "Don't go in there."
Him - "Why?"
Me - "Because it's hot in there. Don't do it." I sternly warned. "I don't even want to go
back in there." He turned around and walked back to our air conditioned bed room.
Standing in front of the chilly air blowing from R2-D2, I braced myself for the inferno awaiting me. And as I re-entered the blazing hot kitchen to finish dinner, another epicurean quip came to my heat crazed mind, "Welcome to hell!" No doubt, this is a sincerely sinister greeting given by despotic chefs to new cooks around the globe, when they are inducted into professional kitchens. As I wearily slapped down the hot steamy food onto our dining table and I limply sank down hard into my chair with R2-D2 going full throttle, I announced that the stove would be decommissioned until further notice. Well, until the temperatures dipped below 90 degrees, anyhoo. With near heat exhaustion gripping me, I proclaimed that sandwiches would be served for the next few nights, and to my amazement, my family didn't object to my hot food boycott.
And so, last night, when the mercury reached a reasonably cooler level, I pulled into the parking lot of our local market where the heat radiated from its sticky black surface, causing me to I walk quickly toward swishing doors that promised soothing cool relief. Once inside the bastion of cool, I slowly meandered the refrigerated aisles reveling in some air-conditioned "me" time, and I blissfully placed cold cuts, fresh fruit, and bread into my cart. Finally, I pulled into line and was about to unload my cold cuts onto the conveyor belt, when I realized I had almost forgotten to purchase the most effective victual weapon against oppressive summer heat, ice cream! I'm sure you'd agree that it is very hard to make ban-berry shakes without ice cream. So, I quickly left my cart holding my spot in line, as I dashed to the ice cream aisle. I made it back in line, paid for my frigid fare, and I hurried home before the ice cream morphed into cream of vanilla soup. As I drove home, I was almost giddy with the idea that I would not have to turn on the stove and cook the next day, maybe even for a week!
Sheesh! With so many wonderful cold food recipes to prepare, it made me wonder what took me so !@#$%^* (fricken) long to think of this before? This should have been a no- brainer. I mean come on lady, there's oodles and oodles of cold sandwiches, and salads, and even cold soups galore to consume during long hot summers, so get with the program. And that's exactly what I intend to do - finally! Sure, this common sense epiphany came to me late in the season, but better late than never! Bon Appetite!