What is about to follow is a true story, and is not for those squeamish about their food.
That is what I thought to myself when my family sat down at the dinner table yesterday.
I’ll start from the beginning. It all started while my dad and I were sitting in the living room watching TV. My mom was in the kitchen making dinner. A new recipe she was excited to try, she told us.
The hiss from the pressure cooker could be heard across the house. Followed by a confused expletive from the kitchen.
Shortly after a malicious laugh, one of those guttural mwahahaha types erupted. My dad and I looked at each other with confusion.
“It’s purple,” my mom said through her laughter.
“What is?”
“The chicken,” followed by a continuous onslaught of laughter.
I looked to my dad to discover he mirrored the look of concern and disgust on my own face.
As we shuffled into the room, my mom handed us plates heaped with an indescribably disturbing sight.
Seated at the table, soft and random chuckles escaped my mom. She braved the first bite and assured us that it tasted “just fine” and that she found it so funny that the beans had discolored our poultry.
My dad refused to even touch the chicken. I hesitantly took a bite, and it was indeed edible. “Not so bad, right,” my mom said.
“Yeah, but, when it looks like it has been rotting in the earth for a while, it doesn’t really make you want to eat it,” I said.
We enjoyed our meal, as much as we could with the bizarre appearance of our food. For all of those who haven’t used a pressure cooker before, don’t be frightened if what comes out doesn’t quite look like what it normally would.
