When no one's looking...

[desperance]

I think it's quite cute, really, the way I talk to myself when I'm cooking. (Only if the cats aren't there, o'course; if they are, I'm talking to the cats.)

I transcribe, near as I can remember:

"A tablespoon of oil ... I'll use ghee. One flippyscoop, that should be a tablespoon ... How much is a flippyscoop? I'll show you ... See? That's a flippyscoop. Just not quite enough to fall on the floor as I carry it across the ... whoops!"

And so on. In an audible undertone. Ad nauseam, unless you're cats, or absent.

As it happens, I'm making beef vindaloo. With variations.

"Four dried chillies? Four? That's ridiculous. I'll use - oh, that many," uptipping the entire container, "that'll be fine..."

Then I ground all the spices together; then I sniffed the mixture.

Whoo. Never had a sniff of dry mixture make my eyes water before. I'll let you know...

Comments

[lamentables.livejournal.com]

I do that all the time when I'm working.
The decorator is working on the landing and the stairs just outside my office this week.
My office has no door.
I'm fighting hard to suppress the running the commentary.

[pennski.livejournal.com]

Sounds cute to me. I start talking to myself the moment I'm alone, sometimes even earlier.