patrícia furtado

The weekend I’ve decided to dedicate to baking has barely started, and already there is trouble in the horizon. I guess burning my leg with boiling olive oil two weeks ago and spilling my dinner on the kitchen floor a couple of days ago should have been interpreted as signs to stay away, but it takes more than a second degree burn to keep me out.

So, what happened today? I was cooking some Strawberry Apple Jam, when I was distracted by my cat breaking free from the useless window net, and jumping outside. Cat chasing ensued, for the entertainment of the snooping neighbours, and when I finally got her to come back inside, I’d forgotten all about my jam.

That is, until I smelled something burning. And burned it was. Too burned to salvage any. Bottom of the pan will take a million years to wash, the stove is pretty messy too.

I’m not even upset anymore. The kitchen gods are after me, but I just shrug and move on. I have stuff to bake this weekend, and bake it I will. But somehow, I feel like I’ll be back with more stories to tell…