My wife Lisa and our kids are still back in Indiana, probably until the school year ends. So, for the time being, I have a furniture-less little apartment by myself, and have instantly reverted back to my bachelor lifestyle from about 20 years ago. Except I'm no longer dating. Just wanted to make that perfectly clear, in case Lisa reads this!
Lisa is a very good cook. I, despite nearly a year at age 16 making steaks and frying shrimp at Garbo's restaurant, am not a good cook. That means that all my meals so far in LA have been the 3 things I'm confident making: spaghetti from a Prego bottle, frozen pizza, or anything wrapped up in a tortilla shell. So, last night I was hankerin' for something different, and decided to make - are you ready? - a hamburger and a baked potato.
The potato I figured out. Poked a couple holes in it, then threw it in the microwave. When it was time to make the hamburger, I discovered I'd neglected to bring 2 things with me; a frying pan and a spatula. Oh, well, I figured I'd give it a go with my only pot and a fork. Good enough, right?
Wrong. As soon as I tried to flip the burger, I knew there was going to be trouble. It was completely stuck to the pan, and cooking way too fast on the outside. I turned down the heat and tried to tear it off the bottom with the fork, but it kept breaking pieces off. And the part that stuck to the pan kept getting blacker and blacker. I was able to get most of it flipped over, but smoke was starting to come off the bottom. It was still red inside, and needed more time on the other side, so I kept going. The smoke got thicker.
Well, by the time it got done on the inside, smoke was pouring out of the pot, the burger was black on the outside, and the little apartment was now filled with a smokey haze. I ate with every window open and every fan on, but the smell never went away. All night I kept waking up thinking I was living in a burning meat-packing plant. I'm sure the neighbors are wondering what loser on the 2nd floor nearly burned the place down. And today the smell is still there. I think it's permanently soaked into the carpet and every piece of clothing I have.
So if you ever see me, and you're wondering why I smell like burned meat, now you know. And you know why I'm going back to spaghetti until Lisa gets here.