This blog has been a long time coming, my brain cells have been in a winter induced hibernation, as such nothing came out when I sat down to type. But the sap is rising and the brain is working again, here goes….
You think you can cook? Just look at my kitchen!!
Mum had a pressure cooker that she used every once in a while. It used to fascinate me that something could cook a huge piece of meat so quickly. The meat was placed inside the cooker, which looked like a big heavy pan with a locking lid. A small amount of water was put in it, and a weight placed on top of a small spout on the top of the lid, this weight allowed the steam to be kept inside the cooker so that whatever was inside cooked very quickly. As a cooking medium it was very boring, nothing to see, no bubbling, boiling food, and no aroma, but it worked.
What marvelled me the most was that at the end of the cooking time, she would use a fork to lift off the weight on the top of the lid to let the steam out before opening the lid to reveal the cooked, though very pale, meat. I thought this was great, with steam shooting up, whistling as it came out, until it slowly died off as the pressure dropped inside the cooker. I once asked dad how it worked, of course I got the normal ‘shut up” answer, nonetheless I knew that one day I would have one, I just knew it!
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| our home is on the right |
Roz and I were married on the 15th June 1974, and we moved into a new house on Lydgate in Harle Syke. To move into a new house was amazing, though we had very little money, we sold our car to buy what little furniture we had, and still had no carpet in any room, we did have the basics, and were very proud of our house. But we had no pressure cooker. After working and saving we eventually got carpets, more furniture and some luxuries like a stereo. Finally as a surprise I bought a pressure cooker, Roz was mortified, she had never seen one, let alone used one and was worried about it right away. Of course, in my normal ‘know it all’ way I told her it was ‘easy’, mum used one, “nothing to it, leave it to me” (two words, head and big spring to mind)
But what to cook, I had to prove to Roz that it would work, and that not only was it a time saver, but that I could do it. Mum always used it for meat, but that was expensive for us and I did not feel like spoiling any in case I got it wrong. So I decided to use spaghetti, easy, cheap, a perfect way to show off my ‘high pressure’ culinary skills.
I put water in, put the pasta in, closed and locked the lid and turned on the gas. The thing shook a bit, then slowly the little button on top of the weight rose indicating that the pressure had built up and we were in business. The cooker stopped shaking, steam came out of the vent under control, all looked good, and I looked very smug. “See I said to Roz, I told you it was easy”
I had no idea how long to cook pasta in a pressure cooker for, (in retrospect, who on earth would) so I left it for ten minutes, then proudly proclaiming to Roz that she should stand back as I bravely removed the weight, I grabbed a fork, and with a fluid motion that would have been graceful on any West End stage, I removed the weight from the top of the lid.
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| what a creation - beautiful |
With an almighty whoosh the steam came spewing out of the top of the cooker, just like at home, but with it also came a gluttonous mass of pasta, who knew that pasta would turn into a sticky goo? This mess went straight up onto our kitchen ceiling and stuck there. Our new house, our new kitchen was now dripping with pasta ‘juice’, it was everywhere, I looked and felt horrified, this had never happened at home, what had I done wrong?
To my dying day I will always remember Roz, on her knees, looking at the ceiling crying her eyes out and saying “my kitchen, what have you done”? It was a mess, nothing I could say or do could save me now. I was doomed, it took the longest fifteen minutes for the steam to finally stop, then we just looked as slowly, drip by drip the pasta came off the ceiling, dropping back on to the stove, pressure cooker and floor. I looked at Roz, having joined her on my knees next to her, she was distraught, as mum would say when describing a person in shock, “she looked poorly she did, she looked very poorly”
The pressure cooker had a very short life, it was removed the next day, I cleaned up, then painted the ceiling, when we moved out in 1981, there was still pasta stuck on to the ceiling, painted over, no pressure cooker, and no mention of buying another one!
