I don’t do pressure cookers.
I will most likely never own one. Why not? OH! Did I not tell you about the time that Cody almost BLEW OFF HIS FACE WITH A PRESSURE COOKER?
He was making mashed potatoes at my moms house.
Silly me figured I knew what he was doing. Until I heard,
“Hey, how do you get the lid off?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never used one, don’t you know?”
“No, I only ever watched my mom and I don’t think this one is like hers.”
You’re cooking with a lethal pot under the direction of WATCHING YOUR MOM over six years ago? Swell.
He started to grunt as if trying to push a very stubborn rhinocerous.
This is NOT how you open a pressure cooker.
Correction, this is NOT how you open a pressure cooker properly.
The BANG! was louder than a shotgun. Cody’s yell was not a good yell.
In less than the time for Cody to yell “I’m, um, okay?” I thought
Ah, irrational fears.
I got up from the couch and before I even turned the corner into the kitchen I saw a good portion of the dozen potatoes smeared all over the wall 30 feet away from the stove. When I actually turned into the kitchen I saw a husband covered, COVERED, in scalding potatoes, I couldn’t see out the kitchen window because it was covered in potatoes, and the ceiling. OH THE CEILING.
The handle of the pressure cooker had busted OFF the pan and the handle was lodged into the ceiling. A ceiling surrounded by splatters of mashed potatoes. At least it wasn’t his face, right? The lid was lying off to the side of Cody’s feet.
I took a deep sigh and picked up the phone.
“Hi, mom, what kind of pressure cooker do you want?”
“Oh but I have a pressure cooker, it’s on the shelf…”
“Um, mom, no you don’t. Well, you did, but now you have a halfway decent attempt at a skylight.”