selective memory about food

With the recent heat we’ve been having (today marks the 19th day of 90+ highs, an all-time record), we’ve been trying to do everything we can to stay cool in the house.  Mostly, this involves running the air conditioner.  Weird, right? This works ok, but we do try to help the AC out as much as possible.  We open the windows at night when it cools off, which it didn’t last night (69 degree low).  We close the shades so the sun doesn’t shine in.  And we grill a lot of our food outside.

I don’t think it’s a secret from anyone that I enjoy cooking and I do the majority of it in our house.  I’d like to think I’m good at it – Rhiannon eats pretty much everything I make, so that must be saying something.  I don’t often make food that’s completely inedible (but it has happened from time to time . Usually, most of the stuff that I have really screwed up has involved an oven, some type of leavening agent, and a lack of ability to correctly follow simple directions.

And, I was just inexperienced as a baker.  I’d like to think that I now could tell the difference between salt and sugar before I make a whole batch of batter.  (I still have nightmares about that one).

Last weekend, part of our grilling was bacon for BLT sandwiches.  We use turkey bacon and found out that it gets crispy like real bacon does when grilled.  The taste has always been fine, but there was just something about floppy bacon that didn’t sit well with me.  On Saturday, I probably could have crisped them a little bit more.  Sunday for breakfast, I had it perfect.  Sunday night, for sandwiches again, I stepped outside to see smoke rising from the grill.

Not just a little bit, but enough to create a plume that I’m sure was visible from the other side of the house.  Smoke signal level smoke.  Serious smoke.  The bacon was a little over cooked, somewhere between well-done charcoal and dry flakey ash.  For a product that tries to impersonate sliced pig, that isn’t really the sweet spot for flavor or texture.

At least a trash can doesn’t complain.

We might be having some people over for dinner this weekend, and I would be doing the cooking.  Rhiannon made the comment last night that she doesn’t worry about anything I make because it always seems to turn out.  Either her short term memory is worse than I thought, or it was that traumatic she blocked it out of her mind completely.