I Have Asbestos Hands!

Never before have I been so glad to have hands made out of asbestos as yesterday. See, I was in a hurry to get out of the house on time to get to a Mother of Twins meeting. And I was busy trying out a new recipe.

It's all Barbara Kingsolver's fault. And my friend Sheri's. The two of them, working together in an evil unknowing collusion, made it necessary for me reveal my asbestos-hands superpower. They made me cook a frittata last night. This is going to be news to both of them. I mean, Barbara Kingsolver doesn't even know me, and Sheri has never, in my memory, mentioned a frittata in my presence. But together, they set in motion a chain of event that led to this fateful day.

Sheri, in a really sweet gesture since she knows I like to cook, sent me the gift subscription to Taste of Home she got when she renewed her subscription. And I do really enjoy it, cutting out tons of recipes, some of which I even end up making. One in the most recent issue was for an asparagus-feta frittata.

How does Barbara Kingsolver factor into this? Well, as I've mentioned a zillion times previously, I'm reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and in it, she waxes poetic about one of my most favorite vegetables on earth, the wonderful asparagus. I know, those of you who know me well probably are not overly surprised to discover I'm in love with what is arguably the most phallic-looking of all vegetables. But anyway, in the book, she talks about asparagus to the point where I'm practically drooling, and even mentions an asparagus frittata.

This was too much of a coincidence for me to ignore. I had to immediately make an asparagus frittata. So that's what I did last night. Now we're coming around full-circle, back to the point of this post. See, you just have to wait for it!

It took longer to set in the oven than the recipe called for, and I was impatiently waiting, getting closer and closer to the time when I needed to leave to get to my meeting on time. For those of you unfamiliar with the intricacies of frittata-making, it's a recipe you start in a skillet on the stove, then you transfer the entire skillet to the oven to let it bake.

When it was finally set in the middle, I took the skillet out of the oven and set it up to take a photo. Because doesn't everyone have to take a picture of their food before they eat?




The picture didn't even turn out any good! I was in too much of a rush. I got out a plate, grabbed the handle of the skillet, and CRAP! I forgot a pot holder! I told you, good thing I have asbestos hands, or that would have hurt.

Oh wait, April Fools! Someone had switched my asbestos hands for plain ol' regular hands, without any heat-repelling superpowers at all. So it did hurt. And my left hand is burned. Stupid frittata. It didn't even taste that good, maybe because I was sitting there with my hand in a bowl of ice water while eating.

But ha, at least I got back at Barbara Kingsolver in one small way for her complicity in my most recent kitchen accident. Shhh, don't tell anyone, but that asparagus came all the way from California to my kitchen in Boston. I'm sorry, but asparagus is one of those veggies that even when it's trucked (or flown) from halfway across the world, it's still awesome. Maybe not nearly as awesome as fresh, local asparagus, but in my mind, even bad asparagus is good asparagus. So I got a jump-start on the asparagus season, and still have half a bundle sitting in my fridge. I think I'll just roast it and sprinkle on a little parmesan cheese and eat it for lunch today. Hopefully I can just remember a pot holder when I take it out of the oven.


Random unrelated thought: What do you think the odds are that I can make it across town to get my car inspected without getting caught by a police officer with an expired inspection sticker? We'll soon see! For the first time in my entire life, I forgot to get my car inspected. It was due in March, and I didn't think of it until last night at 9 pm. Now it's April 1, and I'm breakin' the law. I swear, at one point in my life, I was a really organized person. Now I can't even seem to remember to get my car inspected in THIRTY-ONE days. It's not like I forgot something for a few minutes, or a day, but a whole freakin' month.

Between forgetting an all-important pot holder and forgetting to get my car inspected for an entire month, I'm beginning to wonder if my brain is on holiday...