What’s your greatest kitchen mishap? I’m not talking about the unfortunately ubiquitous slivered finger, but the more dramatic events. Last night, in the midst of creating an amazingly complicated dinner, I managed to make my railroad-style kitchen so hot that the plastic exterior of my electric kettle melted into a solid block. This is the second electric kettle I’ve ruined in as many months (the last one I submerged in water while attempting to clean – apparently that’s a no-no).
One of my favorite mistakes, however, was arriving home after an epic night bartending to find Marcus and Frank sitting calmly in the living room, watching TV. Their Zen-like quality could only be fully appreciated seeing the thick film of vegetable oil they had managed to spread over the entire 450 square feet of our apartment. Apparently they had wanted steak frites, but never really knew how to fry on the stovetop. For weeks afterwards we walked on crunchy kosher salt, soaking up the remains. Our hardwood floors never looked so good.