Monday, October 4, 2010

My Best Friend, the Meat Thermometer

When you’re a 25 year old struggling writer (well, self-declared and soon-to-be…), you have to make sacrifices. And, while I love my new apartment to death, I definitely sacrificed functional kitchen appliances for a killer view...

So, while I can see the entire Boston skyline from the South End to the Seaport, I can't set it and forget it in my little oven. I’ve mentioned this moderately malfunctioning oven before and, although I thought I had put an end to overcooking with my shiny new oven thermometer, apparently it has a mind of its own, and that mind loves overcooked meat. So, today’s post goes out my new trusty sidekick: the meat thermometer.

Dear Meat Thermometer:

I want to say “thank you.”

I try and try to trust my oven, going back to it after it’s failed me like a pathetic teenager clinging to her deadbeat boyfriend. Every time I do, I know you’re sitting in my utensil drawer, nestled between the tongs and the kitchen scissors, patiently waiting. You understand my desire to trust that the oven will go low and slow on that pot roast like I want it to. And, when it comes time to check on the meat, you don’t judge. You just tell it to me straight. Your little red needle points to 180 degrees, timidly suggesting that my meat is beyond well-done and that my oven has done me wrong again. And, after I cut into the meat to reveal the painful truth, crushing my dreams of discovering a perfectly pink center, I turn to you and vow never to go back to the oven again.

I do remember the good times... that perfectly cooked pork loin we made together, how juicy and delicious it was. I know how easy it is to rely on you, but you’ve just got to give me some time to break up with the oven. I’ll still use it of course, but it won’t be the faithful friend it has been to me in apartments past. I want more delicious meat dinners, so I promise, I’ll turn to you for next Sunday's dinner and every one after that. Your days of hiding in the dark of the utensil drawer are over, my friend. Welcome to the counter top.

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