Funny story. I picked a bunch of peas when we got back from Mexico, put them in a bag in my fridge. Kind of forgot about them, but by the time we got some more picked and I shelled all of them last night, it was a good-enough sized bowl to make a nice side dish to go with dinner. So I put them in a pan, added a little bit of water and was just cooking them on low last night while attempting to blog. Then I became distracted. I went outside and sat on the porch and visited with Mike. Then some neighbors came out, and we chatted over the wall; another neighbor joined in. By then it was dark and I came in, but only to avoid the mosquitos that would probably be finding me soon. I came into a house that smelled of bacon, of all things. I wasn't cooking bacon, I thought to myself. How come the bacon smell? And then I saw my pot of peas on the stove. Thoroughly burned to a crisp--and to the bottom of the pan! That was probably the ONLY peas we will have from our garden, and now they were ruined. I felt really bad. But not so badly that I didn't appreciate the fact that I'd not burned up the kitchen!!
So, you know the nursery rhyme:
Pease porridge hot,
Pease porridge cold,
Pease porridge in the pot
Nine days old.
I think it will take nine days of scrubbing to get the black out of the bottom of my pot. Who knew burned peas smelled slightly of bacon cooking??!!