This post is not about drugs. I had a bit of a cooking mishap this past weekend. After running 16 miles in Central Park on Saturday, I returned home very very hungry. I decided to hard-boil some eggs (I also ate everything that remained in the fridge that required no preparation). I retired to the couch in my living room while waiting for the water to boil. And then I fell asleep. I did not sleep for very long, only long enough to completely forget that I had put eggs to boil on the stove.
Can we guess what happened next, faithful readers? I don't know how much time had actually passed, but it was a while. I was relaxing on the couch, when suddenly I heard what I sounded like gunshots coming from the kitchen and then an awful hissing noise. I jumped up in alarm and ran down the hallway to see what happened, but still I did not remember about the eggs, I feared that some random pipe had burst and was spraying water all over my apartment. Luckily that was not the case. It was just a half-dozen eggs that had combusted in the pot after all the water had evaporated. There was not a lot of smoke or even a terrible smell considering it was eggs being dealt with. Some of them shot REALLY far outside of the pot, but mostly stayed together and were easy to clean up. The pot itself, however, did not make it through. While the eggs were just minor casualties I was so sad about this pot. It was my favorite pot! It had travelled with me to many apartments over the past 5 years, and I had cooked so many tasty things in it. My lack of attention had brought about it's untimely demise. Such guilt I felt! But I will not let this pot die in vain. I resolve now to be better about not walking away once I've started cooking something. If I save one more of my pots from a similar fate, it will show this pot's death was not meaningless. It's the best I can do.
The Good Pot is survived by several lesser pots and a skillet.