The first cooking experience that I can recall involved a ridiculously small pan and a light bulb. I was about 6 and had my very own oven - no doubt my mothers exacerbated response to my finicky palate. I thought it was the greatest thing ever! And when the mini packages of cake mix ran out...well I just added water to a large bowl and dumped in the BIG box mom had in the cupboard. I mixed for hours. Filled the tiny pan over and over for days and baked for years. Oddly, only a few made it *wipes crumbs from mouth* to the decorating table where mom's leftover icing in a rainbow of colours awaited. Mom made and decorated cakes with all kinds of fancy tubes and stands and sugar flowers. For some reason i was only allowed to use a spatula, not the fancy things that made all kinds of pretty shapes. Maybe the towering technicoloured icing mountain I created while she was on the phone was a threat to her sensitive cake decorator's ego. Still I had sprinkles. WHAT? no sprinkles either???? MAAAWWWWmmmm!
As years passed I was allowed to re-enter the kitchen. I could mix scrambled eggs. I could mix potato salad. I could mix meatloaf...hey! when do I get to COOK??
Finally the day arose when I, now mature and knowledgeable, could use the stove. This time I would not only mix the potato salad, I would get to cook the potatoes. I carefully read the instructions from mom's handwritten recipe. Wash and peel skin from potatoes. Cut each potato into 6 bite size pieces. Cook the potatoes in a large pan. Place heat on high. They are done when a fork passes easily through them.
Mom...stop yelling at me!!!
Dad! stop laughing!!!!!!
And I AM trying to open the window...it's stuck!!
I maintain to this day that the recipe card said absolutely nothing - no where on the card (I even showed it as evidence at the trial that had me banned from the kitchen) - no where did it mention adding water to the pot. Hello? You taught me to bake using a light bulb!! SO-o-o-o not my fault!