Okay. I do not care for THE HOLIDAYS and I hate to cook. Every year my husband makes turkey jerky and biscotti to give for Christmas gifts. I think this is a lovely thing to do as long I don’t have to be involved.
So, he asked if I would be willing to change the position of the jerky-holding racks on the grill (since one is apparently closer to the burner) and to turn the pieces over since he is at work today. I thought okay, let’s be a nice person and I said yes and let’s make sure we set the timer so I don’t forget. I asked if he had done it on the grill before (he usually uses the oven) and he said yes, and there was no problem (that should have tipped me off right there). He said that if I thought they were getting close to being done, whatever that would be for jerky , it would be better to err on the side of not done enough and he would finish drying them when he got home. I muttered something about I hadn’t thought it was going to be a matter of judgement.
Okay. Bell rings. I go out into the freezing wind with my little tongs and potholders. The piece of wood holding the lid partly up has, of course, fallen out so I won’t know where to put it back. I move the racks and start turning. The pieces seem barely warm and I start thinking about salmonella. Oh well. Then I get to these other pieces that apparently were closer to the burner and they are literally melded to the darn racks! I try to get them up with my fingers. No deal. I run in and get a knife. I try to pop them off the rack, I try to scrape them off the rack, it is one big blankin’ mess of little bits of black turkey flying around in the wind. DANG!!! A whole bunch of that jerky is wrecked.
Why did he have to use the grill when the oven works fine? Why couldn’t he have used both burners on the grill? What am I supposed to do now? I guess I take off the dried off bits I can and now I will have to keep checking so that the others don’t get like that. Oh grrr, grrrr, grrrr. This is just what I HATE about cooking.
Well, I guess I just am upset that a lot of his jerky is messed up. He cuts it up so lovingly and marinates it and so on. What will he do if there isn’t enough for his little presents? I guess this won’t bother him as much as it’s bothering me, which is why he cooks and I don’t. Okay, I will keep the dude. Thanks for listening.
The ex makes deer jerky. Uses a dehydrator (was MY dehydrator for things such as tomatos, but it became HIS after he did the first batch).
When I was pregnant with Noah, I couldn’t stand the smell, so asked if he would mind not making it. Instead, he moved the dehydrator out to the garage. Problem was, this was September, and still warm out (read; flies were still around). Wound up with an entire batch of jerky with added maggot protein.
But the BEST was the time he decided to make jerky about 3 in the morning, then leave for the day. He washed the stuff off in the kitchen sink. I came down in the morning to find an inch of “stuff” on both sides of the double sink. Ok - figure it’s plugged, put some Draino in - nothing. Use a plumber’s helper - nothing. Call my mom to take the kids to church (this was a Sunday morning) and go out and buy a snake. Take the trap off - it’s clear. Go to hook the snake up to the drill - no drill. It’s in his van - going with him to a place THAT HAS NO ELECTRICITY!! Try using the snake by hand, proceed to just throw black crap all over the kitchen.
He came in about 8:30 that evening - told him to GET TO WORK on the damn drain!!! Oh - and didn’t he notice that it WASN’T WORKING before he left? He said “I just thought it was running slow”.
I guess you have a good point, Jerry. I’ll keep concentrating on that till he gets home.
I just went out and already the pieces I just turned were sticking like crazy but they are raw in the middle (I think they should be more evenly sliced so the middles aren’t so thick) so I moved the whole rack farther from the burner. I mean it is not like a lovely spring day out there so I can just take a book out and sit there and coddle each piece. I have to go get the darn snowblower too!
missy, I’ll have to tell Jim your stories. I can’t really match those. “just thought it was running slow” .
It sure isn’t for perfectionists, or even for sensible people who prefer not to have total wreckage and insane disasters around them. Relax???
God bless America. Yer killin’ me with the jerky stories; the international chiffsters must be wonderin’ what the heck we are on about with this subject.
I could do an entire stand up routine to rival Jeff Foxworthy concerning the “antics” of my ex. I actually gave the ex a “you know you’re a redneck” 365 calendar, and checked all the ones that applied to him - had more than half checked. The kids have added to it as time goes on - Nate compares disorganization on a scale to how his father operates!!
I still hate deer jerky. Never had turkey jerky because the ex never got one of those hunting (boy, do I have stories about THAT, too!!!)
I once had a roommate who was a Chemical Engineering major.
He hated how my friend and I cooked, which was mostly unbounded
by recipies. He wanted to know exact measurements and times.
We’d always reply with a shrug and a “Whatever seems right”, or
“Until it’s done” kinda comment. That really got his goat
Well, my husband is a chemistry teacher (administrator right now) and his research did require some care which has always surprised me given the way he cooks . I think the cooking must be an antidote to the fussy stuff he has to deal with or something. But when something turns out really good, then he can’t remember how he made it.
We had to cut down a small dead leaning-over tree last weekend. I was all for calling the tree service just to make sure we didn’t get killed, but he wanted us to do it for fun. I was all busy studying what exactly was holding the darn thing up while he is just merrily whacking away at whatever. Finally I had to scream at him to stop since the darn thing was swaying around and liable to fall right on top of him—of course he would deny this . So I then cut the brush in the area opposite from the direction that the tree was leaning in so we could stand there safely. He did accomodate me by unplugging the small chain saw he rented, after finally agreeing with me that hand sawing this whole tree into lengths with little pruning saws was going to be pretty darned hard, before he tried to unjam it with a screwdriver! He said there was no way that it could start going, but I didn’t believe him. It is true that both hands had to be pushing on separate buttons to make it run and that his hands couldn’t possibly have pressed on either button, but YOU JUST NEVER KNOW!!!
, it would be better to err on the side of not done enough and he would finish drying them when he got home. I muttered something about I hadn’t thought it was going to be a matter of judgement. 
.
