I cooked a fish filet for lunch today. I tried pan-frying the fish, but the cooking oil splattered everywhere. Tiny droplets shot straight up into the range hood and rained down onto the stovetop. I decided to abort the operation; I would finish cooking the fish using a different method. So I put the partly cooked fish on a plate, covered it with a paper towel, and put it into the microwave. I gave it one minute.
Did you know fish can explode?
It’s true. This fish exploded in only 55 seconds. I knew then that the fish was done. When I lifted the paper towel, it looked bad. Little fish-bits caught by the paper towel littered the exposed side of the fillet, so I turned the fillet over to hide that side. I put salt and butter on it, and it was tasty. And it was completely cooked.
I’ve written about the disaster called carving a chicken. I’ve written about filling my house with smoke from the toaster. I’ve even written about breaking the toaster – which I wasn’t even using at the time, although I was near the toaster and attempting to prepare food. Apparently, the area around me while I’m engaged in food preparation constitutes a kind of danger zone.
I imagine my neighbors sitting in their living room:
(A faint boom is heard.)
Husband: Did you hear that? I wonder what it was.
Wife: It was just the guy next door cooking something.
I should probably stick to fish sticks baked in my oven. And for a side vegetable: a bag of potato chips. It sounds like a bullet-proof meal, but I’m confident I have the talent to screw it up. I’m that good.
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