How NOT to Cook Chicken Broth

My cooking fail from two weeks ago told in reverse chronological order.

Scene:

My bedroom, lights out. A table fan set on top of my nightstand is ferociously blowing on my elevated left hand.

It’s 2am and I have to be up for work at 9am.

30 minutes earlier

Scene: 24-hour super market. The store is eerily empty with only a few store clerks working.

“Ma’am,” I muster the pain enough to ask: “Where are your burn ointments?” She takes me over to the aisle and points to row of burn creams and gels. I take one of everything and rush to the checkout counter. I’m desperate. I drop all the bottles from my throbbing red left hand. It takes every ounce within me not to yelp.

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5 hours earlier

I’m preparing to make my first ever home made chicken broth. I take a snap shot to document the moment.

 90 minutes later

Chicken is done baking. I remove the broth and let it simmer.

30 minutes later

Chicken broth is done, it’s time to let it cool down and continue watching the MTV Video Music Awards.

 20 minutes later

 I try to figure out a way to pour the broth into a glass jar without getting it everywhere. There is not a funnel to be found in my kitchen so I decide to slowly pour the broth. Without thinking, I hold the jar to steady it, which becomes my biggest mistake. I accidently pour too fast and nearly 1/3 of the hot broth gets on my hand. I drop everything, let the broth spill over the countertop and run to the kitchen faucet and place my hand under the cold water.

I remove my hand from the faucet and realize I have a first degree burn. My skin is beginning to peel and the webs between my fingers feel like they’re on fire. I clean the kitchen as quickly as a one-handed person possibly can and go to bed with a bag of ice. I toss and turn in my sheets and I finally decide to fill a bucket with cold water, sleep on my side with my left hand dangling in the bucket next to my bed because at that point I needed sleep and it was the only way I was going to get through the night.

But the bucket doesn’t help. The ice doesn’t help. The fan being on doesn’t help. So that brings me to the late night trip to the store where I buy the burn cream and the green gel  that I slather on like you would butter a holiday turkey and hold my hand up to the fan set on top of my nightstand and finally drift off to sleep.

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 Lesson learned:

Don’t hold a jar as you’re pouring hot liquid into it.

 Side note:

My broth wasn’t actually a fail. Me pouring it into the jar was. The broth actually turned out great and only took me a short time to make it. I’ll have the recipe up later this week:)

On another side note:

This stuff works!

Photograph

This post is a part of the Daily Prompt Weekly Writing Challenge: Backwards

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I Dream of Coffee

Hi I’m Rakhi and I’m a recovering coffee addict lover. There’s nothing I don’t like about coffee, except maybe for the fact that it makes me sick:( If you read my first post on how I jumpstarted my recovery to good health by doing a  detox, you’ll know that coffee was one of those items on the ‘break up with these foods’ list and it was one of the hardest breakups I’ve ever had to face. I’ve never cried over a guy, but I have for coffee. And cake. I still dream of cake too. 

In the beginning of my elimination diet, giving up coffee wasn’t that bad since I liked it for the taste rather than needing it for the caffeine. I felt great, my GI issues went away, my allergies were clearing, and I had all the energy I needed from fruits. But once I introduced it back into my diet, it was like giving candy to a baby. The initial few moments were great, I felt the rush and I wanted more…and then came the crash and the bloating and the joint pains a few days later. I was in denial. I was convinced it was something else I had eaten causing my symptoms to come back again. So I switched from sugar to stevia, and went for an all-natural creamer and that seemed to help. But then I started drinking a cup a day and it became pretty obvious, too much coffee made me sick.

In the beginning I was devastated. No more hot White Mocha Breve’s during fall and winters? A lifetime of summers without Iced Coffees? How was I going to deal? I tried coffee again, because well sometimes, like in any relationship you have to keep working at it to make it work, and I still loved coffee, and I was hoping coffee still loved me back; and it did. Turns out I’m intolerant to coffee in large amounts, but drinking one cup a week won’t make me utterly ill.

Being in great health to me isn’t about having to make great sacrifices but just slight compromises. Being in good health means I can still put on my William Ackerman playlist while I do yoga sun salutations without having my wrists ache. It means walking down to the farmer’s market on a Sunday and coming home to make a great nutritious meal with my family while winding down to some wine. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice taste for health and it’s ok to cheat every once in a while because at the end of the day you deserve what makes you happy.

This post is part of the Daily Post Weekly Writing Challege: Fit to Write