I read Mindy Klasky’s blog today where she was lamenting the fruit fly invasion in her kitchen, and the steps she was taking to rid herself of the pesky little monsters.  I had to comment, “me too!” Because I have a fruit fly problem of my own.  In fact, it may just be a plague of biblical proportions.  I have sprayed, and cleaned, and poured boiling water down the drain.  I’ve pitched out all the fruit…washed all the dishes…took out the trash.  Still those damn flies multiply overnight.  It makes me not want to be in the kitchen at all…or that’s my current excuse anyway.  I intend on using Mindy’s methods of ridding myself of the flies…tomorrow.  Tonight, I had bigger fish to fry.

Well, maybe not fish…but I had bigger “stir” to fry anyway.

My husband called me from twenty minutes away to tell me he was starving to death (to death!) and, “What did you make for dinner?” 

I made the same thing I make most nights…nothing.  But “nothing” wasn’t going to cut it tonight.  And he wasn’t up for the usual restaurant fair I tend to crave.  No, he wanted a home cooked meal.  I almost asked him whose home he was visiting tonight, but I didn’t.  He sounded grumpy, and I didn’t want to make grumpy things grumpier. 

So I pulled out the leftover chicken, a bag of fresh baby carrots, a bag of fresh snow peas, and a whole onion, and fired up the ridiculously expensive sauté pan I just had to have (even though I hate to cook).

Now, my dislike of cooking has nothing to do with a lack of skills.  It has to do with a lack of desire.  I inherited this from my mother.  She taught me how to bake like a French pastry chef, but she had the uncanny ability to burn water.  She just doesn't like to cook. 

I think my problem is mostly boredom.  I can’t bear to stand in front of the stove stirring a pot when I could be doing something more exciting. 

So I put my laptop on the island and chop the onions while I watch my Twitter stream roll by.  I send a few tweets then toss the cut onion into the hot oil and begin to sauté them.  It was going so well…then bing…more tweets.  I answer a tweet and turn back to…oh wait…shiny Facebook.  I have a message.  So I check my Facebook messages…then I may as well check my email, right?  I have several email accounts, so I click through those and read the lovely bit of spam my mother sent me…and type out a quick message.  The onions smell wonderful I know I need to stir them. Then bing, more tweets.  I laugh, and type a message back and then…what is that smell?

That’s when I noticed the fireball.

And that your honor, is exactly how I was banned from cooking for several months. 

So I’ve gone from biblically significant fruit flies to the fires of hell coming out of my stove.  I’m telling you, the kitchen is a dangerous place!  People just shouldn’t have to cook for themselves when there are places like Longhorn Steakhouse so readily available. 

Oh, I did actually finish the stir fry.  And I thought it was pretty good.  My husband didn’t love it, but maybe that was my plan all along.  No one will ever know.

Until the next time…I’ll be making reservations!