Cupla nomad

I have a bad feeling about what is happening inside my oven right now. Am exerting extreme discipline to not approach its handle and inquire as I did on Tuesday evening when, having no bad feeling whatsoever, I pulled the darn thing open and billowing black smoke and unsatisfying noises came out to greet me. I remain utterly perplexed as to what could cause a lamb shephard’s pie to behave in such a manner.

There was some disagreement down below in the pyrex, some kind of hostile resistance between the chicken broth (error) and the lamb rest and it was shooting up and out and transforming the business into a kind of culinary gangland.

Today’s union or attempt at merger is just two pieces of a chicken and a bit of basil. (What the bloody hell can be going wrong in there?) I have put a hat on it and will just take a deep breath or wait for the smoke alarm to insist I open it.

Cookery is not something I will conquer in this lifetime. But it’s a great provider of odd and anxious momentitos.