Yesterday evening, I decided to cook my mom’s sweet and sour pork leg. So, I put the piggie’s leg into the pressure cooker, add chopped onions, garlic, ginger and lots of Thai chillies sauce and tomato ketchup to make the most appetizing pork leg that only my late mother can cook.
So, I left the pressure cooker on slow fire. Ya ya ya, I use a pressure cooker but use it for slow stewing….Wrong concept but I like it that away. If you hurriedly cook something in the pressure cooker, somehow, the taste is not quite right.
Then, just before dinner time, I press open my rice cooker and walau-eh, there is a jungle of mouldy stuffs in there! It is greenish, grayish and whitish. Plus it smells good. Like tapai…And when I got rid of that blob of thing, it didn’t fall apart but roll up nicely.
My #3 son asked me why I didn’t leave it to make enzyme. I told him my enzyme making days are over, not fun to play anymore. I explained to him about how alcohol forms. He asked me why not leave it to make sake. *sweats*
Then, two days earlier, I got down to the dining room in the morning and notice two casseroles of spaghetti vongole and macaroni carbonara stinking.
So, I decided to boycott cooking. Nowadays it is so hard to predict who is eating and who is not because #1 son works shift. #2 son is doing a part time job in a restaurant near our house.
Usually hubby is the last to eat. And I expect the last person to eat to keep whatever leftovers. I am not one of those mothers who lovingly clean up the kitchen each night before I go to bed. When I am done cooking and feeding the two younger boys, my job is done. See? Sort of like a job thing, you only cook and feed whoever needs to eat and you punch out and stop working.
I suppose it is my fault for the mouldy pot of rice or the wasted pastas…But what the hell, I am so not into cleaning up the whole house, check the locks, switch off the lights, dust the handrail of the stairs. Maybe I must blame my lazy genes or my Hainanese genes of having principles. That is, my job is to cook, not more.
Bleh, I don’t know why I am even ranting this but the smell of the fermented rice and the smell of the pasta-gone bad still sticks to my nostrils.
Just like this Lady Pasta.
I am going to eat out tonight. So there is no risk of good foods gone bad.