Currently the smell of burned eggs is singeing my nose hairs. I was so proud that I was thinking ahead for lunch time and boiling a pot full of eggs. The problem is when you go downstairs, then upstairs and downstairs again. You do thirty tasks in a row -- piano practice, throw a toddler in the air, fix a broken doorknob, check email, print a coupon, fold a load of laundry. Then in the middle of the thirtieth task, you hear a loud poppy explosion, and that's when you suddenly remember the eggs. Initially I thought the pop was the glass lid bursting, so I was relieved when I ran in the kitchen and only found crispy/mushy egg bits all over the place. There was no water left in the now-scorched pot, and the eggs were all very well done. Surprisingly still edible -- don't mind if I do. The twins didn't mind if they did either. At least there is some small scraplet of a reward for the burning stench that won't evacuate the premises.
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| Letting the burn fumes waft to the neighbors. |
What do you do when your original lunch plan goes up in smoldering smoke fumes? Make what you have for lunch every day.
Cue a giant bowl of lettuce and avocado.
Melt goat and cheddar cheese on top of a giant pile of chips and peppers.
Use your favorite kitchen tool: the Pampered Chef Avocado Peeler.
Mix and stuff your face.
What's your go-to lunch?
Do you have a favorite kitchen gadget?
What do you change up if you have a bum leg that doesn't want to feel better?
