At the time this seemed like a really good idea (is how most horror stories should start).
I was at Trader Joe’s killing some time before an appointment, roaming the store, trying to think of what exactly it was that I needed in the first place and I remembered the sign out front advertising their corned beef. Ok, I’m vaguely Irish, I’m supposed to eat more protein, St. Patrick’s day is coming up and I like corned beef. Mostly I like corned beef surrounded by rye bread, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese and Thousand Island dressing but those are just minor details.
This thought process is how I found myself rooting around in TJ’s cold case display of corned beef with one hand while balancing a miniature cup of lava hot coffee with the other hand. The packages amounted to hunks of fatty looking meat swimming in round spice pellets and blood soup.
Brain: “This will be tasty treat!”
And this is how meat becomes an impulse buy. I found the smallest package I could and headed for check out with my carnivorous treasure.
It is now Sunday, the day of “spring forward” so I have already lost an hour somewhere. I’m sleepy and slightly stoned from AlleveD because in addition to misplacing an hour, the weather has also jumped from 30 degrees and the snow day we had on Wednesday (Seriously, 4 days ago) to 60+ degrees with the house windows open so the cats can “sniff the good sniffs.” Therefore my face has been an uncontrollable-without-drugs snot geyser.
This now seemed like a reasonable time to cook meat. Yes, I could do this. It would simmer and become glorious while I did other household chores. The instructions said to cover the contents of the package with water, bring to a boil and then cover and simmer for 3-4 hours. Brain and I watched as the pot turned into a frothy grayish brown stew that I would sooner associate with a taxidermist boiling the flesh off of skulls than with future Reubens. Really, I should have known better; when meat instructions involve “boiling” little good will come of it. What were the Irish thinking?
Unfortunately, it then occurred to Brain and I the level of meat boiling committment that we had signed on for.
Brain: “‘Simmer for 3-4 hours’ What about our nap?!”
What about our nap indeed? It’s a Sunday afternoon, there’s a slight breeze, as previously stated it’s all I can do to not slip into an allergy induced coma, but I’ve now trapped myself in my house and into consciousness with a questionable blob of unattractive meat.
I’m going for it. Just 20 minutes. The cats will let me know if something goes wrong.
And then her tombstone read: “KStew, she was vaguely Irish.”