Cooking in the name of.

Today I am cooking.

Why? Well, there was this corn from the farmshare I wanted to get out of the way before the housewarming on Saturday (and, well, before it went bad). It's one of those ten-minute jobs you keep putting off and putting off, you know. So I shucked and boiled it, and stuck it in the freezer. But I still had the pot of water, and there were these potatoes sitting out next to the corn, and hey, maybe I could get them out of the way too and make some mashed potatoes.

This cleared up some lovely nice prep space on my butcher block table.

So while the potatoes were cooking, I figured, hey, now I can run the bread machine since I have prep space again, except that there were these apples in the way that probably needed using too. But wait! I'm already in the kitchen, right? I have everything I need for Waldorf salad. So I pulled out the chicken from the fridge, noticed some more leftover farmshare -- nine or ten Roma tomatoes -- behind it, and decided a better use for these nice, bone-in chicken thighs I had was this African tomato honey chicken I'm pretty fond of. Chopping and prep enused. It's on the stove now, smelling nice.

Back to the Waldorf salad, now chickenless, and those apples.

I'm checking out the recipe just now and realizing I don't have any mayonnaise. No problem, says I. I'll just make mayonnaise; I have everything for that, and it's a quick job. Except it'd be a pity to waste the egg whites, especially since the eggs I buy are the schmancy organic free-range type...

And that is how I spent my whole evening in the kitchen and got from ten minutes of boiling corn on the cob to contemplating a Pavlova.

People, this is how accidents happen.

Just say no to cooking.