Last night I annointed myself the Mariano Rivera of the kitchen. What is this you ask? The Mariano Rivera of the kitchen is the person who comes into the dinner preparation process late and takes credit for the success of the dinner. I’ve become quite proficient in “saving” the dinner at our domicile while dazzling the crowd (by crowd, I mean myself) with my high level of culinary prowess.
I’m often able to display such artistry by adding a key ingredient or spice to ensure the neccessary flavour is being upheld in a taco blend. In the recent past I’ve been called upon late to ensure that that the vegetables in the stir fry weren’t cooking too long thus becoming too soggy for everyone’s liking and, of course, I’ve been called from the pen to aid in stirring a simmering satay. All of this may not be demanding, but in my opinion deserves some hall of fame recognition nonetheless, non?
Since the First Lady has been on maternity leave I have had the wonderful experience of sitting back and relaxing and playing with N8 while she prepares a wonderful melange of goodness to eat. This in itself has been awesome (Fellas I’m told this isn’t the norm for maternity leave, but hallejuah praise the lord to procreation if it is). Last night the First Lady thought she would dazzle me witha recipe that she found in the newspaper. She decided to make a concoction entitled “Arizona Chicken”. With a title like this, I knew that there would be a good chance that I would be called upon to save the dinner in its waining moments (Sorry Cardinal fans my heroics are only saved for the kitchen, I can’t do anything about leaving a wide receiver open in the back of an endzone).
The First Lady is a meticulous chef. Much like a college football coach, she devises coloured coded play charts and organizes the kitchen appliances into 1st, 2nd and 3rd team players. So needless to say the recipe was followed to exact science. The veggies were cut quite crisply, the sauce was measured without fault and the chicken was sliced to perfection. She combined all of the ingredients into a pan. I stayed clear of her way and stayed in the bullpen amusing N8 with an assortment of sounds and array of farting noises, including my specialty, “The Predator”.
As perfect as this scenario might sound, I knew that I had to stay loose because my Rivera-like closing abilities would most likely be called upon at some point. As I was playing with N8 I began to get myself into a Zen like mindset, to prepare myself for the call into the kitchen. Finally near the completion of the “Arizona Chicken” meal I was called upon by the First Lady to stir the simmering pan of blended herbs and spices. I calmly put down N8 into his chair and walked tranquilly into the kitchen. I grabbed a wooden spoon from the drawer and I began to take a few warm up stirs in the air (I didn’t want to injure myself). Finally after a dozen or so practice stirs I felt prepared, I felt good, I felt confident, I was ready to go. I put the wooden spoon into the pan and swirled it around a few times. I was feeling a little brazen so I even added a little extra heat to the element and I stirred around a few more times. Finally after two minutes of action I felt comfortable in calling it quits. Dinner over and yet another save for me. Chalk it up for the record books I am the Mariano Rivera of the kitchen.
Now granted some saves are easier than others, this one turned out to be similar to a closer coming in to protect a 3 run lead with the 7, 8 and 9th batters up. However there has been some epic dinner saves on my resume. I won’t regal you with such bravado at this time, but be assured their are much tougher dinner saves to be had.