A funny thing happened Sunday - karma kicked me for getting cocky.
I woke up Sunday morning and decided I wanted some bacon. Instead of waiting for B. to wake up and cook breakfast, I decided to brave the frying pan and fend for myself. Fifteen minutes later, I enjoyed a few strips of perfectly crisp bacon.
This is a big deal because, well, I can't fry things. Not eggs. Not breakfast meat. Not French toast. The last time I tried to make grilled cheese sandwiches we literally ended up eating cheese and crackers.
Because of my successful breakfast, I decided to tackle dinner. It entailed frying up some beef medallions and then simmering them in a maple bourbon glaze. Piece of cake, right? Wrong. This here picture illustrates the oil burn I received while cooking. It doesn't tickle. It's starting to blister. My hope is that it leaves a scar to remind me to never again try my hand at cooking anything that involves a frying pan. Or a griddle; griddles are bad too.