Since I live alone and seldom feel like cooking an elaborate meal, I usually eat quick crap: sandwiches, scrambled eggs, frozen pizza, soup - - anything that takes little time or effort to prepare.
Yesterday the rainy, cold weather inflicted me with an uncanny urge to eat something decent. Boneless pork chops, potatoes, and green beans sounded like an intriguing diversion from tuna sandwiches.
I always put the chops and potatoes on a big tray and bake them in the oven.
I slice the potatoes thin - then douse them with olive oil, pepper, paprika and garlic salt.
Everything was going wonderfully well. After half an hour, I was just about ready to take the tray out of the oven.
I suddenly started searching the kitchen for my trusty serrated knife, which I needed to cut an onion.
It probably sounds peculiar, but I've been using this one particular knife for at least a dozen years. It's my favorite culinary utensil and has never failed me. Without it, I'm lost.
I searched the kitchen with increasing frustration: the drawers, countertop - it's a small area, there aren't many places to look.
I even searched the refrigerator, just in case my absentmindedness had caused me to place the knife in there.
Acute paranoia suddenly kicked in.
What if I'm even more crazy than I initially thought - and there never really was a knife??
While pondering that horrifying consideration, the uniquely pungent odor of burning food was thickly drifting from the oven.
I opened the oven door, pulled the tray out, and couldn't believe what I saw.
There - - amidst the well-done potatoes and pork chops - - was.....
....let's all say it together....
the missing knife!!!!
Well, technically, only the blade was recognizable.
The handle had COMPLETELY melted away and the odious liquid was shamelessly infused with the food!
I don't know whether I was more shocked by the dissolving knife or the fact that the handle seemed to have been made of plastic - - rather than wood, as I had initially thought.
At any rate, the beautiful meal was ruined.
I carefully tried to scrape off the melted plastic goo, and attempted to eat bits of the chops and potatoes that didn't seem too tainted.
But it was an unnerving process, during which I imagined that I might get poisoned if I ingested enough plastic.
I miss my knife. I'm angry that a good meal was destroyed. And I'm even more pissed at my carelessness.
I've had a lot of kitchen calamities in my time, but I never thoroughly baked a knife at 400 degrees.
Could there be a reasonably agreeable resolution to this annoyingly long tale?
Possibly.
I have a few more pork chops and I'm going to carefully cook them tonight.
