I've had a lot of kitchen mishaps, but last night, this one definitely took the cake. I'd scrounged in the fridge for ingredients for a stuffed twice-baked potato, and found them. I had a bag of delicious crimini mushrooms, garlic, shallots, cheese, chives, and four potatoes.
This was going to be a fantastic dinner, I thought to myself as I surveyed the ingredients on the counter. I sliced through those mushrooms with a rapid speed, like they were butter. Pounded the garlic cloves, and then chopped them finely. The shallot on the cutting board unfurled itself into thin slices underneath my knife. The chives, quickly chopped, found themselves on top of the sliced mushrooms.
I sauteed the mushrooms, the garlic, shallots, chives, and threw in a little salt and pepper while the potatoes, pricked several times with a stabbity-fork, roasted away in their brown skins in the oven. The kitchen smelled utterly divine, and I'd just opened a bottle of Cortijo Rioja wine.
The potatoes were finally done, and they cooled slightly on the counter. Then I cut them into halves, scooping out the white cooked buttery flesh, and added the potato pulp to a large bowl. I added in a stick of softened butter, some milk, cheese, and mashed the potatoes to my desired consistency. I folded in the mushrooms, and in a quick moment of inspiration, added in chopped bacon.
Mounds of cheese soon were piled on each baked potato halves. It was a beautiful sight----seeing the effort of all my work. I'd had a taste of the stuffing that went into the baked potato shells, and it tasted delicious.
I got up, held the metal sheet with the potatoes on it between my hands, and bent down before the open oven door.
My husband, who was on the phone with my mother, came out of the office. I didn't hear him talking until he said very loudly to something my mother said, "OH NO!" It scared the hell out of me, and I dropped the metal sheet with the potatoes out of shock. The stuffing and potatoes spilled out all over the racks.
I wanted to cry at that point. Slightly tipsy, I was mortified that all that hard work was for nothing. An hour and a half of prep, cooking, and the only result of that were spilled potatoes on the rack and on the bottom of the hot oven.
That was the worst kitchen mishap I'd ever had.
My dear husband quickly realized what he'd caused to happen, apologized, and offered to take me out to dinner. I took him up on that. Smart man. It's why I married him, he always knows how to put things right.
And now, the question for this community---what was the WORST kitchen mishap you've ever had?