Made an absolute Potato of it

So you could say I’m not the most domesticated of people. Partly it’s laziness, partly because I lack a lot of common sense - an essential ingredient in the kitchen apparently. A unanimous decision was made, that for Friday night I would be cooking for the girls. Feck. You’d think that I would just cook something I know I can cook. No no, I was going all out. I was gonna show them that I am a good cook. I definitely showed them something.

Walking round Asda with the cook book in my hand, I was making sure that I had everything I needed. After the girls had arrived, with days of hype for this ‘amazing meal’ I would be cooking, I get started on the preparation. Seen as I don’t often get in the kitchen to cook a big meal, I got a little carried away and felt like Jamie Oliver on his Sainsbury’s advert...chopped right into my left thumb didn't I. I literally thought I was amazing until one of my ligaments was hanging off. Okay, bit dramatic, a slight cut, but to be honest it would show the girls the effort I was going to (milked it).

After serving the starter, it was time to put the main on as it was meant to simmer for 30 minutes – by the way, the main, never again, was a Chicken, Spinach and Potato curry (WTF). Following the recipe step by step I chuck everything into the pan, and bobs your uncle right? No, not right. 2 hours into the half an hour simmering session the fucking potatoes were still hard. I tried to act like everything was under control and ‘Don’t worry I always double/triple the time set in the book’ were the kind of phrases coming out of my mouth. After pouring about 47 glasses of water into the pan, and chopping them into smaller segments (purchased huge jacket potatoes by mistake - minor error), the girls were getting skinny, and I was finally ready to admit defeat. A quick game of potato roulette to see the ratio of hard to soft potatoes commenced – 1/8 wasn’t so bad!! The book didn’t tell me to part boil, so how was I meant to know? By this time it was half 11 and I had been ‘simmering’ for 3 bloody hours. Hard. As. Rock. Stupid frickin recipe.

The girls pulled through and complimented it the whole time they were eating. It made me chuckle inside to see them having to swallow hard potatoes, just to not make me feel bad - I didn't stop them. To be honest, I never want to see, hear, eat, smell or come into any contact with a potato for a long time. The girls say they can still feel potato in their legs. I think we can all safely say I won’t be cooking for them for a while. All part of my cunning plan J

Adios. Alice – Mrs Potato Head