I'm a chicken! Whee!
Dec. 29th, 2004 06:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredericksMom seems to be getting used to me cooking. To my chagrin. I took over the range on Christmas, when she was feeling too under the weather to get off of bed. I've basically cooked all the meals since then. She's still in recovery from a bonafide influenza attack, so I'm not going to begrudge her too much on her assumption that I'm going to throw some stuff in the pots to feed the mongrels that make up our household. It was funny, though. She'd gone shopping this morning and picked up a number of stuff. When she came back from the doctor's office with my father I asked her if she was going to make chicken or beef. She mumbled something - the word "chicken" was definitely in there somewhere - then she just drifted up to her bed, leaving me staring at a roaster. I was bored with the usual barbequing, so I tried something new (for me, anyway). First wash, then season with salt and pepper. Then I decided to pour a bottle of Corona over it. I figure the stuff isn't fit for human consumption, maybe it'll work magic on poultry. I was going to go the Corona and lime route, but we didn't have any lime. I ended up cutting up celery and tomatoes, pureeing some garlic and onions, and throwing all that onto the chicken with a liberal dosage of Lawry's Seasoning Salts. After letting it "marinate" for a while I stuck the mess on the stove (it was in one of our iron pots, a massive thing). I wanted to boil it in there, the entire roaster, but I chickened out after a few minutes and just dumped it in the oven with some barbeque after all. I haven't tasted it yet. I just hope no one keels over (::fingers crossed::).
I like cooking, I do. It's an act you can do alone to give some pleasure to others [an act that the church doesn't frown on, and most likely won't add incriminating hair to your palms as well - ed.]. If I didn't have the pressure on me to "DO SOMETHING! worthwhile (read: "prestigious") with [my] life" I think I would have loved going to culinary school. I think about it now, once I get a steady well-paying job, taking culinary classes. The folks would hate to hear I want to be a chef (not that I *do*, I'm using this as an example; just because you like to play tennis doesn't mean you want to up and join the Tour). My mom has told as few people as possible about my re-entering school. The woman whose kids my mom wishes were her own called the other day when mom was sleeping and seemed surprised to hear about it. This woman has two daughters: one's a lawyer who works for the government, the other's a cardiologist who lives in a veritable mansion in Connecticut (with a THEATRE in it, my brother is quick to note). I should just do this nursing thing, get out of here, and become an interesting point of conversation for mommy dearest.
The whole nursing school thing is...daunting. I have to figure out when stuff is due, who needs what, when I can take the GREs, when I can afford the GREs, prep for the GREs. Lots of things. And lots of money needed. I'm hoping Shakespeare and Co. decided to re-hire me for Rush next semester. I need to work on the essay section. I hope we can do it on the computer. I have the hardest time writing coherent freehand essays. I mean, I have a hard time writing a coherent anything, as is evident in my journal. But prep for the essay would be nice.
I like cooking, I do. It's an act you can do alone to give some pleasure to others [an act that the church doesn't frown on, and most likely won't add incriminating hair to your palms as well - ed.]. If I didn't have the pressure on me to "DO SOMETHING! worthwhile (read: "prestigious") with [my] life" I think I would have loved going to culinary school. I think about it now, once I get a steady well-paying job, taking culinary classes. The folks would hate to hear I want to be a chef (not that I *do*, I'm using this as an example; just because you like to play tennis doesn't mean you want to up and join the Tour). My mom has told as few people as possible about my re-entering school. The woman whose kids my mom wishes were her own called the other day when mom was sleeping and seemed surprised to hear about it. This woman has two daughters: one's a lawyer who works for the government, the other's a cardiologist who lives in a veritable mansion in Connecticut (with a THEATRE in it, my brother is quick to note). I should just do this nursing thing, get out of here, and become an interesting point of conversation for mommy dearest.
The whole nursing school thing is...daunting. I have to figure out when stuff is due, who needs what, when I can take the GREs, when I can afford the GREs, prep for the GREs. Lots of things. And lots of money needed. I'm hoping Shakespeare and Co. decided to re-hire me for Rush next semester. I need to work on the essay section. I hope we can do it on the computer. I have the hardest time writing coherent freehand essays. I mean, I have a hard time writing a coherent anything, as is evident in my journal. But prep for the essay would be nice.
