Saturday, September 23, 2006

In which I nearly kill the boy with my cooking

Now, I would be the first one to tell you that burgers and anything else made with minced up meat must be cooked thoroughly before eating. And yet I've been guilty of giving the boy a local version of Dehli-belly twice in the last couple of months.

The first time was with a couple of venison burgers. The one I cut into, to test for done-ness, was nice and brown inside. The one one my plate and the second one on the boy's plate had lovely pink interiors. Who knew that commercially processed burgers would need such variable cooking times? (I was fortunate enough to find out before I was halfway through my venison sandwich - the boy had been too hungry to notice.)

The second time was last night, when I decided to make hot dogs out of a packet of Kranskys I got from the supermarket. (There are some strange items in the sausage section at the supermarket these days - I saw some small, purple cocktail sausages with the words "purple cock" typed on the label. I kid you not.) I pan-fried those Kranskys till their respective skins split; surely that was a sign of cookedness? But the boy was apparently in and out of the loo all night (I didn't notice - the only thing that wakes me at night these days is the sound of a baby crying), and I was glad I'd only had one.

As I get older and grumpier, I have moments of insecurity in which I fear that the boy might go off me and leave for someone younger, more pert and better in the kitchen.

5 comments:

Kazzer said...

I wouldn't worry -I'm the worlds worst cook and my boy is still with me after 19 years. Anyone who says the way to a man's heart is through his stomach is aiming too high. Can't see him leaving you anyway - I think he's a little too fond of you to do that.

Nigel Patel said...

"Take Hambergers, here Hambergessas are really bad. It's known that Americans like hambergers, so again we're idiots. But they (the Spanish) have no idea how delicious hambergers can be, and it's this ideal berger of memory we crave not the disgusting bergers we get abroad."
Taken from the film Barcelona, a movie often quoted in Stately Patel Manor, but then I'm the only resident capable of human speech.

I've been informed that my girlie can't fry an egg without starting a kitchen fire but my feelings that she's positevely dandy far outweigh any desire for a plate of scrambled eggs.
If he sat down for "purple cock" I don't think you have much chance of shaking him off much less of chasing him away.
You're clearly a keeper.

Violet said...

kazzer: You know what "they" say about women who can't cook, yet their partners/husbands haven't deserted them for someone who can...that they must be fantastic in the sack.
In my case at least, I'm glad for the stereotype.

nigel: see above ;-) Seriously, I do like a good burger.

glomgold said...

Kranskys are hotdogs? I thought hotdogs had enough chemicals in them to kill any and all germs.
Haven't seen any purple cocks in the freezer sections, nor venison. Which is strange considering the constant moaning about the deer population in this country.

Violet said...

glomgold: well, Kranskys are sausages with cheese inside. And as far as I'm concerned, a sausage in a bread roll is a hot dog. So is a battered, deep-fried sausage on a stick - but I think that might be a Kiwi thing.