cooking outside my comfort zone

Pam had placed me on relationship probation following a poor Christmas gift performance that consisted of a Lava Bun foot warmer. The status of which, she had decided, would be re-evaluated after Valentine's Day. And, in an effort to improve my ranking, I opted for treating her to a home cooked meal.

Up until now, my cooking skills have mainly consisted of delicacies such as ham and cheese sandwiches on Wonder Bread and the occasional bowl of cereal. After careful consideration, I decided to try cooking outside of my comfort zone and found a recipe for crab cakes.

And while my cooking skills remain under-developed, I tend to read quite well. Therefore, I reasoned, the process would be simple. Read the directions. Follow the directions. And behold! A glorious meal would be created.

Upon arriving home from the supermarket, I assembled the ingredients on the counter and began the whole cooking process. I opened the can of crab meat and tore open the package of seasoning superbly well. I mixed and stirred the ingredients like a world class chef. All that was left was the actual caking of the crab.

I scooped up a mushy glob of the crab mixture and began packing it down into a perfect little patty sized piece of crab heaven. I dropped it into the skillet, waited the instructed five minutes which the package told me was the ideal browning time, and scooped it up for the final flip. But somewhere in mid-flip my perfectly formed patty deteriorated quickly, and I was left with a multitude of mini-patties sizzling in the pan.

I quickly grabbed a spoon and tried to reassemble my broken crab cake by pushing them into one another. And while the chunks of crab skittled around in the frying pan, much like a miniaturized game of hockey taking place on my stove, they failed to congeal into one larger sized cake. I pleaded with them to no avail. They were stubborn little crab chunks that were decidedly against cohabitation.

My dream of a Valentine’s Day meal of crab cakes was quickly evaporating. So, in an effort to salvage my attempt to impress Pam, I threw the rest of the crab in the pan and, cakes be damned, decided we were now having scramble crab for dinner.

An hour later, the salad was tossed, the veggies were steaming, and the wine was chilled. I had just lit the candles and rearranged a single rose on the table when Pam arrived. I took her coat, poured her a glass of Chardonnay, and we sat down to eat.

Once our salads were finished, I rose from the table to bring about the main course, which looked quite like scrambled eggs without the eggs. Pam gave me a curious look as I walked back into the dining room and served her dinner.

“I thought you said we were having crab cakes,” she asked.

“No,” I told her, “there will be no caking of crabs tonight. Instead, I have chosen to prepare un-caked crabs…which I believe is all the rage in Portugal, or one of those over seas places.”

Despite the lack of confidence that my reassurance evoked in her, the crab wasn’t too bad. Luckily, the dessert I had prepared, which was an array of Godiva chocolates, was truly the high point of the night.

And I fully take credit for preparing this dessert since I was the one who had to rip off that tricky cellophane wrapper around the box. Because, I discovered, this is the type of cooking that I do best at.