Jess vs Bacon; the Sequel

I am on a serious quest to become domestic in the kitchen.  It has sunk in that we are not the people that eat out every single day anymore, and so faced with the tension of having taste buds beyond Hamburger Helper, I've been backed into a corner. 

I'm the wife/mother.  We are hungry.  There is nobody to turn to except me.  Our situation is nothing if not desolate.  Just like my ideal camping trip is running barefoot through the Marriott, my ideal time in the kitchen is grabbing a soda on my way to the phone book to call for pizza.  Thus far, I've really enjoyed the kitchen.  It's a really great place to get cereal each morning. 

Everything about the kitchen baffles me.

For example, about 6 months after we married, we moved into a new apartment.  I had the pleasure of unpacking the kitchen and about 6 weeks later, Chris confronted me with the information that he had located the clothing iron in the kitchen drawer with the mixing stuff.  He was looking for the actual mixer, and could I please inform him of the location of the actual mixer?

I thought for sure that he was a total idiot.  (I didn't love Jesus then, clearly.)  I rolled my eyes and said "Ugh.  You are such a man.  That is the mixer.  I'll show you the iron."  I grabbed his hand (real condescending like) and walked him over to the closet.  I swung the door open and grabbed the iron.  "Here it is. See?"
"That's the mixer."
"No it's not."
"Yep, look closely."
I looked at the item, but only to gather evidence to prove to him that he was, in fact, an idiot. 
And the idiot was me. 
In my defense though, they look really similar.  Next time you are at my house, at least give me a chance to show you that they kind of look similar.  They are almost the same color....and they both have handles.  I mean, if that doesn't justify the confusion, nothing will. 

So my full assault, all out combat against the kitchen is going pretty well.  Sometimes I get flashbacks though.  And because I wanted to clarify for any reader of this blog that I am not one to look up to in any way, I thought I would share a vintage Jess & Chris story.  Yesterday I made homemade baked potato soup, which involved cooking bacon.  On the stove.  By myself.  I give you: 

Jessica vs Bacon; the Day it Disappeared
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It was a cold morning in 2004.  Chris and I were living in our very first apartment together.  We had been married about one month.  This was pre-children, so I have absolutely no clue how we spent our weekends.  I think we just sat there and took it all for granted.  We probably slept in, went to a movie, worked on homework when we felt like it, and basically just did nothing.  What do people without kids even do?  I can't even make a joke about it.  Seriously.  What do people do?

Anyway, it was mid-morning and we decided to make a big breakfast.  And by "we", I mean Chris.  Chris was making breakfast, and I was planning on eating it.  I was watching TV and Chris was cooking when he realized that he had forgotten something critical at the store.  I think it was eggs.  Anyway, he gave me the option.  Did I want to go to the store and buy the eggs, or did I want to stay home and watch the bacon?  I was intricately involved in the cribs episode on MTV, so I decided to watch the bacon.  I became frantic as he was leaving though.  "Chris, you know that I don't know what to do with bacon, right?"

"Honey, it's not hard.  Just turn it over a few times.  I'll be gone for less than 10 minutes.  You'll be fine.  Just keep an eye on it."  And he left.  Me.  Alone.  With bacon.

I walked into the kitchen and stared at it.  It was sizzling.  So I turned it over and it the grease popped and burned my finger.  I felt that was inappropriately aggressive for a pork item and, grabbing my finger that had been set aflame (not really), I went back into the living room, thinking to myself "I'll just watch until the next commercial and then flip it again."

I walked out of the kitchen into the living room and noted that 50 Cent's house was insane.  I watched his cars, and his living room and his ridiculous kitchen.  I wondered if being shot hurt.  And did he know what it was like to drive a 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee and make 8.37/hour right out of college?  And I wondered if I could rap.  What if I had, like a secret talent that I didn't even know about?  Then I could rap and have a gold toilet, just like 50.  Except that I wasn't sure if going number 2 on a gold toilet was that enticing. 

The commercial came on.  "Time to check the bacon!" I thought.  I looked up and couldn't see anything.  The entire apartment was full of smoke. 

I ran the 5 steps from the couch to the kitchen and couldn't see the bacon at all.  I turned on the fan, and there was nothing in the pan.  Even when the smoke was being blown away from it, there was nothing there.  So I grabbed the pan and took it out to the porch. I put it on the ground and, leaning up against the wall, I slowly slid to the ground.  What happened?

Just then, I heard the front door open. There was a long pause (presumably as Chris' vision became accustomed to the wall of smoke), and then I heard Chris yell "Honeyyyy?....Helloooo?....Where are you?"

"I'm out here, Chris.  Outside."

He joined me and looked concerned.  "Are you okay? I was gone for 8 minutes....."

"I don't know what happened!  The bacon is gone.  Where did it go?"  I pointed to the pan that was completely black and devoid of any substance indicative of food.

"I think the bacon is the black clumps on the pan."  And gosh darn it if there weren't several black clumps of ash.  He looked incredulous.  Kind of like a man that married a woman 6 weeks ago and found out that she can disintegrate bacon in 8 minutes.  After he pledged to stay forever. 

"I can't believe it! I just watched one portion of the Cribs episode, and when I came back, it was all gone! Did you know that bacon disintegrates?"

"No.  No I did not."

"Me neither.  Well.....do you want me to help you with the eggs?"

"Um...nope.  I...uh...think I'll take the breakfast from here, sweetie."

"You sure?"

"Really sure." 

"Is it because I'm horrible in the kitchen?"

"Absolutely.  100% yes."

That was the last time I was allowed to look at bacon on the stove.
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So last night, I'm happy to report that after almost 8 years of shying away from the diabolical bacon, I cooked it from start to finish.  And it didn't disappear or anything.  It was touch and go for awhile there, but I'm happy to report that it was a success. 

Take that, bacon.
Pretty soon, all the kitchen appliances are going to be in the kitchen and I'm going to be known for cooking food that people eat. 
I can't promise about where the clothing iron will be though. 
That machine right there is a straight mystery.   
Maybe I'll try the iron in my 40s.  Don't want to get too crazy over here.