So last night I decided to cook a hamburger.
Big deal, right?
It was.
I've never really cooked a hamburger before (in the 1970s I did in one of those hamburger cooker thingies)
Some spices...some oil in the pan to prevent sticking.. A little of this, a little of that.
WRONG!
I put two burgers (80% lean) in a pan and cooked them to perfection without adding anything.
(A little Jack Daniels BBQ sauce to dip it in)
And then I tasted it. It was fantastic! I did the Snoopy dance. (not really)
I looked over at Wifey with a smug look on my face.
I just cooked a hamburger and it was great!
WIFEY: "Let me try a piece!"
ME: "Okay."
:::CHOMPCHOMPCHOMP:::
ME: "So how was it?"
WIFEY: "Tasted like a hamburger."
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4 comments:
I swear to gawd, sometimes I catch myself wondering if you're a real person or just a figment of my very strange imagination.
(You should try making a scrambled egg next...if you can crack the egg and beat it properly, then you'll really feel accomplished. I'll mail you a gold star!)
One day I came home to find a note from my precious little wifey:
"Dinner is on the stove. Just turn on the burner under the frying pan."
I lifted the lid on the pan to find a raw hamburger sitting in about an inch of nice, fresh, Mazola oil.
Believe it or not, my wifey is a much better cook than her mother ever was.
The old bat's attitude was: It's going to end up looking and smelling like manure anywats, so why not cut right to the chase?
I'm suddenly wondering why I waste so much of my life making proper, nicely cooked meals...
Wait, who put the burger in the pan for you?
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