Have you ever had to decide between convenience and possibly killing your loved ones?
I’m a pretty OK cook. And I make a mean chili – I lovingly craft the vegan chili of my dreams, and cook up ground turkey on the side for my carnivorous husband.
All of this magic happens in a kitchen about the size of a Kleenex, and with kitchen utensils that are, in large part, hand-me-downs. Friends, Pyrex lasts forever.
You know what else lasts forever? Those little glass bowls you could get at the grocery store by collecting stamps. I have my grandma’s collection, and I use them every day. I feel like they are rare, fragile gems, even though I imagine they’re worth about 37 cents.
Turns out they also aren’t fragile. Ask me how I know! It might be something to do with the fact that I dropped one last night while making chili. The bowl bounced into the dish rack, and there was a loud crash, but I couldn’t find a crack or chip in the bowl. I chalked it up to Grandma looking out for me, and continued making chili.
The chili part of the chili was simmering along. The turkey part of the chili was almost done, and just needed to finish cooking. I grabbed the skillet lid out of the dish rack and tipped it over the turkey. As I did, there was a tinkling little racket.
I looked back at the dish rack. While Grandma’s little grocery store bowl was unscathed, it had completely obliterated the Mr. Coffee carafe. The dish rack was full of broken glass. And the skillet lid had been full of broken glass, too.
I had dumped shards of broken glass into my husband’s ground turkey. I had effectively ensured that he would have to go coffee-less in the morning, but I had also maybe figured out a way to kill him before then.
I looked at the turkey. I was so hungry, and the chili was done. Maybe I could fish out the glass. Maybe I could just rinse it off. It would probably be fine, right? Why, with all the diet pop he drinks, his stomach was probably already accustomed to such roughage.
I thought about it. I really did.
And then I dumped the turkey in the trash, fished some chicken out of the fridge, and started over. Because sometimes being responsible is a giant pain in the ass.