Am I the only one that loves food and yet I can't even dishonestly give myself a fifty percent pass in kitchen matters?
This is embarrassing but I have to say it like it is. At 21 I have still not acquired that cooking instinct like my mother has or most women have which makes them know without thinking, the quantity of seasoning to add to a soup and it will taste just right.
The challenge I usually face in the kitchen is- SALT and MAGGI problem(Wave your hands if this is yours too). Even with as much tasting and precision when doling out seasonings into the dish. Something just pushes me to add a pinch more salt and that is it. The food is ruined. The meal I had laboriously fawned over turns into a salty nightmare.
Anyway, that is by the way. I want to tell you a story about my recent Jollof rice rice cooking disaster.
One fine Saturday morning, I climbed out of bed thinking it was the perfect time to prepare the jollof rice i had been craving all week. Not just jollof rice, but the special one prepared for parties and I had been taking online classes from different food bloggers and vloggers. One thing that bored into my consciousness was that they collectively said this; add your condiments, cover the lid, and then allow your jollof rice to burrrrrrrrrrrrrrn. I liked the sound of that. That, they said, was the secret of it's distinct flava and taste.
All week I looked forward to Saturday with glee and i announced to my housemates nobody should dream of preparing breakfast because I am cooking party jollof rice! and it's gonna be bad gaan. I have the key to making perfect Nigerian party Jollof. I refused to allow their skeptic stare down intimidate me. They did not know whassup.
Saturday finally came and I was prepared.
*Fresh pepper - check
* Fresh tomatoes - check
* Green beans - check
* Liver - check
* Rice- check
* Maggi and salt(I had counted the cubes and measured out the salt I was to use and gave the rest to my housemate to keep; under solemn oath not to release them to me even if I crawled on the floor, begging). -check.
Saturday morning and I was feeling like boss lady. Did all the necessary things. Covered the pot finally and went to the living room to chill. I eventually lost track of time so I am not too sure now, how long before i heard,
"Ebose I think something is burning."
"ok" I shrugged her off.
Some twenty minutes later, "Ebose the jollof rice is burning!"
"I know, leave it." I yelled back."Make sure you don't touch my pot, I know exactly what I am doing."
That is the secret of jollof, I said. Them gyals don't know nothing. Let it burrrrrn baby.
She called a third time, this time she sounded freaked out. "Ebose! are you giving us burnt rice to eat? Or you just want to burn this house down which is it?"
I became furious. My pot, my jollof rice, off limits. How I cook it, my business. No one should talk about the rice again.
The minutes ticked off slowly and I became restless. Umm, so at what point do I finally drop the rice? Nothing I read stated the exact time or how I know when to drop the rice. I decided to sit out another ten so all the flavour and sweetness will soak the rice well.
Fifteen minutes later, the house was seriously beginning to have this peculiar burnt rice perfume and my roomies were snickering mischievously so I tiptoed to the kitchen, and flipped the lid in anticipation.
Guess what I saw?
I am too embarrassed to go into details and Oh, yes I had to sponsor take-outs for my three friends that day.
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