Domestication Fail #4: Revenge of the Potato

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson the first time I attempted mashed potatoes for Hubs. But no. By the time I was making my second attempt, the mishap with the blender was long forgotten.

Hubs and I were newly engaged when this DF took place. He had decided to invite his parents over for dinner. A wonderful idea. I love my in-laws. Plus, this would be a great opportunity to prove to my future-mother-in-law that I could take care of her son just as well as she could.

I was gonna cook dinner. And it was gonna be awesome.

The set up for this story is pretty much the same as last time. I put the dinner rolls in the oven, chopped veggies for the salad, and handed the steaks to Hubs to take out on the grill. But this time I remembered to start the potatoes early.

As I was in the kitchen slicing and dicing, I was having a wonderful conversation with my (then future) mother-in-law, while she sat at the kitchen table enjoying her cigarette and watching me work my wifely magic. My fingers were flying as I fell into the pace of my cooking foods, and I recalled a memory of how graceful my own mother looked when she cooked. Dancing from one side of the kitchen to the other, stirring and seasoning like a culinary ballerina. I thought it would be impressive to mimic the moves I'd seen her throw down. But my mother didn't called me Grace for nothin'.

I pranced to the pantry like I knew exactly what I was doing. I was so cool. So confident, as I grabbed the shaker of garlic salt and unscrewed the lid with a flutter of my hand. Spinning back to the dutch oven, I upturned the shaker over the boiling potatoes to season them just a little.

The entire shaker of garlic salt spilled out into the pot.

As I've said before: The first sign of catastrophe is the smell.

In my haste I hadn't stopped to notice that the garlic salt had a flip top lid with little holes in it. I thought it was a screw off lid. The stench of garlic filled the room. My in-laws burst out laughing as Hubs ran over to quickly strain them. Five second rule. Maybe they could be saved.

Or maybe not.

I'm quickly learning to enjoy pizza.