I do not cook very much. My guy knows this and is okay with it.
But before the freeze,our neighbor gave us some of those wonderful big lemons that taste so lemony and not bitter at all. You could almost eat them like oranges. (I once gave a friend several we'd brought back from a relative's yard in Florida, along with some oranges and grapefruit. Her husband ate one and later told her it was the sourest orange he'd ever tasted.)
Anyway, our neighbor has a bush of them and we were the happy recipients. So my guy decides he wants a lemon ice box pie.
Now, a lemon ice box pie is one of the few things I do make. It was the first thing I ever made on my own at like ten or twelve, and the only hard part is the meringue. But I'm a good meringue maker (I make divinity, too) so a lemon pie is no trouble.
I mixed up the filling, whipped up the meringue, stuck it in the oven and let it cook. Ten or fifteen minutes later, I checked and the meringue was a perfect light brown. I took two potholders, went to lift it out of the oven and...
Disaster. The pie tin slipped and flipped, meringue first. Pie went onto the oven door and into the oven.
"Aaiigghh!" I squeal.
My guy comes rushing in, sees the mess and his face falls, then turns hopeful. "Want me to run to the store and get you another pie shell to make another pie?"
"I don't think so!" I just don't feel like this is the best day to try again, especially when both cats throw up shortly after.
He did help me clean up. Maybe we'll try again tomorrow.