Burnt Offerings

Burnt Offerings

Suzanne Marsh

“Aunt Sue, Aunt Sue, wake up, can you cook?” Smoke was billowing out of the kitchen by the time my husband and I rolled out of the couch sleeper we had slept on the night before. Visiting my cousin was a horrible culinary experience. My cousin’s daughter was desperate, as were her brothers; they were tired of burnt offerings from my cousin. She watched in fascination as I cooked the eggs and my husband cooked the bacon. The boys came downstairs moments later:

“Hey, the bacon isn’t burnt, the eggs look good, no brown stuff on them.”

My cousin simply was not a good cook; she tried, but to no avail. Every time we visited, I would pray she was not preparing dinner for us; it was either burned to a cinder, or it was half raw, take your pick.

“Put the coffee cake in the oven first, set the timer for twenty minutes. Then, when the coffee

Cake is done, put in the pie.”

That statement caused me a great deal of consternation. My cousin forgot to get milk, so I thought that if I gave her specific instructions, nothing would go wrong. My cousin put the pie in at 375 degrees and expected it to bake in twenty minutes. It was an apple pie, which normally takes at least an hour. We arrived back at her home; smoke billowed out of the kitchen. She burned the coffee cake.

My cousin is the only person I have ever known who can burn water, yes, water. She was visiting us and decided to be helpful and make chicken noodle soup. She wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing. By the time I got back from a quick trip to the grocery store, the house was full of smoke. I did not ask what happened; I ran around the house opening windows. So much for the chicken noodle soup.

Cooking apparently just was not my cousin’s strong suit; she was given cookbooks by the carload. My aunt, her mom, tried to teach her to cook, thinking that giving her her grandmother’s cookbooks would help. In some ways, they made matters even worse. We were visiting her when she decided to have a family picnic. We went to the store and purchased hamburgers and hot dogs. It never occurred to either my husband or me that she would burn an entire dinner. She started by getting the cookbooks out. I, in my naivety, had no idea what she could burn. She began with deviled eggs, which are pretty simple, but not for her; she burned the eggs with shells still on them! I could smell something burning and charged into the kitchen. There, on top of the stove, was a smoking pot; she just stood there; I quickly turned off the stove. The deviled eggs were like black mush. I still can see those eggs in my mind's eye. They left quite an impression on me.

My cousin was attempting to start the grill; she had charcoal, paper, charcoal starter, and something that resembled a flamethrower. She was mumbling to herself when we returned to her house with the hamburger and hot dogs. The rest of her brothers and sisters and parents arrived, and she was still arguing with the grill. She finally asked my husband to light it. With a woosh, the fire in the grill began to roar. We chatted with my cousins until her oldest brother’s eyes began to register panic. We looked over to see flames of orange and blue. A grease fire is not something to mess with. I ran into her kitchen and grabbed baking soda. Fortunately, she was okay, but the picnic was a disaster.

My cousin moved to Oklahoma and rented an apartment near her daughter’s home. I had not seen her in a few years. I walked into the apartment, and there I noticed something strange on the white wall, and naively, what happened to the wall. She answered that she had seasoned a skillet, but forgot about it. It became engulfed in flames, and she could not understand why. She was also making granola and burned her old skillet.

My cousin went on a diet and began fasting. It was similar to the Keto diet. She cooked or burned broccoli and fish. Her daughter was not a happy camper because her home always smelled like fish and burned broccoli, or sometimes cauliflower.

Through the years and burnt offerings, she still can’t cook to save her life. My mom and her niece made a good pair. You would have thought by now I would have been used to things burning in the kitchen. Mom was always burning Swiss Steak. To this day, I can’t look at a green pepper; eating one is something I can’t do. There is something about burned green peppers that just does not do it for me. I can still see Dad heading for the kitchen as smoke circled into the living room. Mom was reading the Ladies’ Home Journal; she was in deep concentration as dinner burned. Sometimes I think it is a wonder I survived my childhood. Mom had never really used a pressure cooker; she decided to make corned beef and cabbage with potatoes and carrots. She put the pressure cooker on the stove, then discovered she had not put an onion in. Instead of cooling the pressure cooker under cool water, she tried to open it. That was not the best idea she ever had. The pressure cooker exploded, and we had cabbage dripping from the ceiling. I suppose Dad and I should have been grateful she didn’t burn it.

Through the years between my mom and my cousin, I have learned to cook. My husband is a great cook and baker. I have learned a great deal about cooking since we were married, including self-preservation. My daughters are not good cooks either. There is one meal I don’t think we will ever forget. My daughter, being the helpful soul that she is, made hot dogs. How could she make a mess of hot dogs? Easy, she cooked them in butter, put allspice, thyme, and oregano, and we had pizza that night.

I suppose I will just have to live with people’s cooking abilities or lack thereof and the burnt offerings.