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Daughter Was Watching Her Mother Cook

Cheryl Kahla
Feb 20, 2019
05:36 A.M.

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GENERATIONAL COOKING SECRETS

One day a little girl was watching her mother make a roast beef. She cut off the ends, wrapped it in string, seasoned it and set it in the roasting pan.

The little girl asked her mother why she cut the ends of the roast off. The mother replied, after some thought, that it was the way that her mother had done it.

Image credit: Pixabay

Image credit: Pixabay

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That night the little girl’s grandma came to dinner and so she went to her and asked why she had cut the ends of the roast off before cooking.

After some thought, the grandma replied that that was the way her mother had done it.

The little girl’s great grandmother was quite old and in a nursing home. So the little girl went with her mother and grandma to see her and again asked the question.

The great grandmother looked at them a bit annoyed and said: “So it would fit in the pan, of course.”

Via: Starts at 60

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Image credit: Pixabay

Image credit: Pixabay

THE RAW FLYING STEAK

It can be hard to impress a new boss, and one netizen's wife tried her best to make the evening a success. Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. The man explained:

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Last night, my wife's boss from her brand new job invited us over for dinner. On the drive over, my wife reiterated many times to me just how important it was to make a good impression.

I scoffed and arrogantly informed my silly wife that I always make good impressions.

My wife's boss is a single lady in her fifties, so it was just the three of us. We chit-chatted over drinks and salads and seemed to really be hitting it off.

Image credit: Pixabay

Image credit: Pixabay

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She laughed at my well-timed, perfectly-appropriate jokes and my wife seemed pleased. Soon she brought out the main course, a nice big juicy steak for each of us.

As I began to cut into my steak, I was discouraged to discover how undercooked this steak was.

Now, I've had my fair share of rare steak. I prefer medium, but I can handle rare. This was several-minutes-on-a-hot-grill short of rare.

I probably could've resuscitated the cow had I tried. Instead, I sat there fidgeting with my knife and fork, worrying about how I was going to get away with not eating this steak.

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Image credit: Pixabay

Image credit: Pixabay

Claim vegan-ism? No, I'd already feigned great enthusiasm upon seeing the steak. Just then, our hostess excused herself to the kitchen to take care of some dessert preparations.

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As I looked across the fancy dining room table at the open window of this 3rd story apartment... a cartoon light bulb appeared over my head.

I knew I had to be decisive, realizing that she could return at any moment. I committed. I grabbed the steak with my hand, gently shook off the juice and executed a perfect throw right through the center of the open window.

I didn't know this, but the window wasn't open. It was the cleanest fricking window you've ever seen in your life.

Image credit: Pixabay

Image credit: Pixabay

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That is, until my mostly raw slab of steak slammed up against it and slowly slid down leaving a trail of bloody juice in its wake.

My wife – who's steak was a nice medium rare and was unaware of my predicament – turned, jaw dropped, and stared at me like I was an alien from another planet.

This look then slowly morphed into more of a "there is no place on this planet you can ever hide from me" expression of demonic anger.

My wife's boss heard the thud of the steak-on-window impact and came quickly. She took in the scene, the steak sitting on the window sill, the blood trail, my empty plate, and then gave me an inquisitive, puzzled look.

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Image credit: Pixabay

Image credit: Pixabay

I just didn't know what to say. It felt like a minute of silence but was probably 3 or 4 seconds. Finally, the best I could manage was:

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"I'm so sorry. I am such a clutz. I don't know, I was just cutting it, and it slipped. Just ask my wife, I really am a clutz, right honey? I will clean this up. I can't believe this. I am so sorry."

Both women continued to stare at me like I had escaped from the loony bin, as I smeared the blood around the window with my cloth napkin, dusted off the steak, and continued to mutter my incoherent explanation.

Image credit: Pixabay

Image credit: Pixabay

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I knew no one was buying the story. I knew what I had to do. I sheepishly returned to my seat and proceeded to eat every bite of that disgusting, cold, chewy, bloody, raw steak.

I remained pretty quiet the rest of the evening. My wife's only two words to me since the incident were "I'm fine."

Via: Reddit/u/defenestrate_me_now

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