One snowy morning in February, I got the idea in my thirteen-year-old mind that I was going to make my mother breakfast. I glanced in her room to make sure she was still sleeping and entered the kitchen knowing exactly what I was going to make: eggs and toast. I had watched my mom make it countless mornings and thought I could do it too. I took a skillet out, placed it on our gas stove, turned the dial and saw the blue flames flicker beneath my pan. I retrieved two eggs from the fridge and cracked them into a bowl, since I only had to remove one eggshell I thought I was doing exceptionally well. I beat the eggs with a whisk as I had seen my mother expertly do so many times, and poured the eggs into the skillet. I heard the familiar hissing sound of the eggs hitting the scorching pan and felt reassured that I was on the right path. Moving on to the toast, on to the toast. I took out two pieces of bread from the fridge, popped them straight into the toaster oven and turned the dial to start it. By the time I focused my attention back to my eggs, I realized something had gone horribly wrong. The scrambled eggs I made which were meant to be yellow and fluffy, had come out browned and rubbery. …show more content…
The only thing I could do was clean the skillet and put it back on the stove. I turned the dial on the stove once more but this time made sure the flames were smaller. I took out two more eggs and beat them, this time determined they would turn out edible. When they hit the pan, I heard them sizzle and with each prod of the spatula I watched them turn into the yellow, fluffy eggs I’d come to know. I turned my stove off and set them on a plate. I then took out another two pieces of bread, lowered the toaster oven’s heat setting and watched the toast to make sure it never surpassed a golden brown. I took my toast out, placed it on the plate next to the eggs and presented my mother with the breakfast I made for
He asked for popcorn kernels, and put them near the heat.” This is how we got microwaves
I just recently visited Miami Beach, Florida and I found out that they have really bad mosquitos because of the Zika Virus. “Florida has confirmed local transmissions of Zika Virus are occurring in two areas Miami - Dade County (floridahealth).” I was packing up all of my stuff for my trip to Miami Beach, Florida because I have really been wanting to go see my cousin Jaxon. We haven't seen each other in so long because we live About 18 hours apart. I had to stop at the gas station a few times but it was worth it.
Dad was making his patented breakfast and in a pretty good mood. He had used a large butcher knife to slice mounds of potatoes into little squares, then fried them in boiling lard in a cast iron skillet. Two additional cast iron fry pans were filled with scrambled eggs and a fourth pan filled the kitchen with the heavenly aroma of bacon frying. There were several baking sheets of his invention, cinnamon rolls made from Bisquick dough with sugar added, rolled thin, spread with a thick coating of butter, pounds of homemade strawberry jam, raisins, more sugar and lots of cinnamon. He rolled up the whole thing and cut slices an inch thick, then placed them on a cookie sheet to bake.
Mrs. Vanessa Vermont was found on the ground dead in the kitchen at her house. She had just bought a new broiler and didn’t know how to set it up. She called an electrician named James Volta to install it. But Mr. Volta said he had never stepped one foot in the house.
We turned off the machine, closed the windows, and left the room knowing that Annabella was safe and soundly asleep. My wife and I crept back to our room and slept away. I woke up at the crack of dawn, and
Torture. Half asleep and on autopilot, Claudia stumbled out of bed, walked past the bathroom, and into the kitchen. Seconds later, she returned with my coffee and placed it next to the
The stove cooks breakfast even during the fire, automatically because it thinks that the human has set fire on to cook and eat food. Here, Bradbury Bradbury shows how much the house is full of automated
New recipes for hibachi, fondue, quiche, crepes and the most recent addition salsas, were added to her mother’s recipe box. These foods indicate how far she has come from the traditions of her southern hometown. Additionally, she describes how cooking isn’t solely controlled by women but to men as well in the 21st century. The chapter provides a stark between the conventional housewife and the new aged husband who shares the responsibility of cooking. The starts the comparison by describing the image of her mother waiting for her father to come home from work every day.
Have you ever set your house on fire? Although my house never was engulfed in flames, I did start a fire in my kitchen. Unfortunately for me, this event occurred on the first day of my sophomore year. School ended, and I immediately came home. Since I had a field hockey practice a few hours after school, I was obligated to eat my dinner earlier than I prefer.
“Brrrring!” rang the alarm. I woke up, turned the alarm off, and buried myself under the covers. They were as soft as a kitten’s fur, and as warm as the air from a heater. After a long hug from my blanket, I finally got hot and went to use the bathroom.
She stated “In my apartment, I keep the walls scrubbed clean. I open the windows and turn the fan on whenever I prepare a meal.” By doing so she parallels her childhood home which was “yellowed with grease. Even the air was dense with it”. In spite of this, she explained how she missed the way her family shared mealtimes
While gazing at the stars on a beautiful winter night, I received a phone call. It was mother. Whimpering, she said "will you please come to the living room. " My mind racing of a million thoughts, "what did I do?" "I hope I 'm not in trouble."
Thanksgiving Shivering to the bone, running in the front door of my dad’s house I hear the sound of pots and pans popping on the stove. From the moment I stepped foot in the door I could smell ham and sweet potatoes baking in the oven. Walking in the kitchen I see my step mom mashing potatoes with a beater. As I walk to the stove I see eggs boiling so we could make deviled eggs. I hear a strange noise so I turned
It squeaked as I opened it just like every other day. I whispered at my dog “Bailey, come on, it’s time for breakfast.” She came out of my parents room slower than normal. She hobbled down the steps.