I remember the day clearly. I was standing at the little kitchen island in the little one-bedroom apartment that we were renting on the campus of the small college we were attending. We were two weeks married and I was going to surprise my husband by fixing supper. Up until then, I had been feeding him a steady diet of Hamburger Helper (we liked the taco flavored one best) and canned soup. He knew how to make pancakes so we had feasted on breakfast-for-supper a few times as well.
Not much of a cook, my idea of a good meal was a drive to McDonalds for a Big Mac or to Harry Bear’s for nachos. The concept of meal preparation was about as clear to me as the lectures from my Geology class had been – I just couldn’t comprehend.
I was going to make paprika chicken, something my mom made almost weekly. She assured me that it was super easy and that I could do it. But as I stared at the packet of chicken breasts I wasn’t sure. Was I supposed to wash them first?
I double-checked to make sure I had all the stuff. I figured it would be easier if I had it all within arms reach. It really did look simple.
- Baking dish – check
- Chicken Breasts – check.
- Chicken Broth – check
- Salt & Pepper – check
- Paprika – check
- Aluminum Foil – check
Easy-peasy right?
I washed the chicken, salt and peppered it, and sprinkled on the paprika. I was surprised when it didn’t seem to want to shake out of the holes in the gold and red spice can. (That should have been my first clue.) So I turned the small dial on top that would allow it to pour out easier. I noticed as I poured, that it was more brown than red and it looked just like teeny, tiny caraway seeds. Hmmm…I didn’t know that paprika was a seed? I held the can to my nose…it smelled fine…kind of warm and earthy, just like paprika was supposed too. (I have no idea how I knew that.)
The chicken was lying on a sheet pan. As I sprinkled the spice on top I noticed it wasn’t sticking. Mom’s paprika always seemed to be just on top. Was it normal for it to fall off like that? I kept shaking more and more on and it still wouldn’t stick. Was I supposed to have dipped the chicken first? It wasn’t adhering at all. I had watched Julia Child rub a Thanksgiving turkey once. She slathered it with something oily and rubbed spices under the skin. Maybe chicken was like that. Maybe the spices needed a little bit of help. Do chicken breasts even have skin?
It was too late to add oil or egg to coat the chicken, but I could rub it. The paprika crunched a bit as I pressed on it but it did, at last, seem to be sticking. I kept sprinkling more and pressing…sprinkling more and pressing. I finally had each piece well covered when I felt something funny. My fingertips were vibrating!
I thought at first that they just felt rough from pressing in the paprika seed so hard. Then I knew…my fingertips weren’t vibrating…THE PAPRIKA WAS MOVING!!! It was BUGS!!!
I had just spent five minutes giving a belly massage to a can full of dormant insects. Paprika did not look like caraway seed — some little critter did.
At that moment I did what any self-respecting new cook would do. I screamed. Loudly. “Oh my word. It’s alive. Ahhh, ahhh…I’m going to be sick.” I grabbed the sheet pan and the can of supposed spice and dumped them in the trash together. Then I grabbed the trashcan, no time to pull the plastic bag out, and ran down three flights of stairs to the apartment dumpster to throw it all away.
I was grossed out. I hate bugs. I was appalled. I hate bugs. What if I had cooked them before I noticed that they moved? WE NEARLY ATE BUGS!!!
It was that day that my husband first teasingly suggested that I might be “domestically-impaired.” He said it with a smile as we walked out the door to eat nachos at Harry Bear’s. It took me twenty years to have the courage to cook with paprika again.
The funniest one I can remember was not my own, but a woman who was “teaching” me to cook. Her story was that she wanted to cook pinto beans for her new husband, so she poured a bag of beans into a large pan, added water, and cooked them all day. That evening as they feasted on the beans they both noticed how grainy they tasted. Her mother asked if she had washed the beans first… nope! The grainy, earthy taste was dirt! Lesson learned: I always rinse my beans before soaking them, then rinse them again before cooking them! Great bug story!! Thanks for sharing it!!
Sheri, I did know to wash my beans. However, I didn’t know that I had to watch and add water. They are another cooking fail. (Hmmm, maybe that should be a story.)
Oh Claudine…that is awful! I remember opening a box of Jiffy corn bread mix once and seeing it “moving”, I had no idea that food could get BUGS in it! To this day, I always look inside the box before I start mixing….
Oh yuk! LOL! Reminds me of something, though it will take awhile to remember what. I do get it though. Old spices, old anything…aren’t they fun!!!