Why "PC" is not for me!

Haha!  Gotcha.  You thought I was going to blog about being politically correct, didn't you?  Well, nope.  When I refer to "PC", I mean Pampered Chef.  I used to be a firm believer in their stuff, but too many near death experiences (I only exaggerate a little) have changed me.  I'm no culinary genius, but I did hold out hope that I would actually be able to cook if I owned nearly every utensil, dish, device they made.  All that has happened?  Heartache.  And a few muscle aches.

Let's look back at what started my skepticism of the ease of use of these glorified kitchen tools.  I went to a show and absolutely loved everything the lady cooked there.  She made everything look SO easy.  My first clue should have been the pork loin in the microwave deal.  I have a hard enough time when I cook my pork loin in the oven or on a grill--I would surely poison myself and Nate if I tried to use the microwave on such foods!  But, I digress.

Apple ring tart thingie.  That's what sold me on my first item.  After I had a bite of its deliciousness (after watching it being made), I just had to have the apple peeler, corer, slicer thing.  Now, this was in the day of "mount it to your counter and go".  Well, I did.  It was my counter in my first grown up apartment and it was the perfect setup.  I pulled out the instructions and put everything together.  Put my first apple on it and started to turn the little knob.  Next thing I know, the apple FLEW off the instrument and went beside the fridge and kinda stuck there between the wall and fridge.  I stared in awe and as I took my hand off the knob of the peeler, it came crashing down, off the counter, and right onto my foot.  No kidding, I immediately went to bend over to grab my foot and knocked my head on the countertop.  The stupid contraption tried to kill me.  I cannot remember now what I paid for it, but I put it in its box and threw it in the garbage.  And cursed.  A lot!

Fast forward to tonight.  I decided to make stuffed shells as advertised in my BFF's blog (Ordinary Day in Paradise).  Now, I bought my mozzarella in a block.  (Felt more authentic that way.)  For the life of me, I could not find the stand up grater in the cabinet.  As I was moving dishes around, I saw it--hereby known as the devil's hand tool.  I saw the cheese grater wheel that I purchased at a party last year.  Crap.  I guess I'll have to try it.  It hadn't worked so well for me before and I was especially nervous about a soft cheese.  So, I cut the cheese (insert juvenile laughter here) so that I could fit it in the barrel.  Note--trying to hold it with one hand and turn the handle to grate the cheese was awkward at best.  And it was soooo hard to do.  I was trying to keep control as mozzarella went flying EVERYWHERE except the bowl.  Tiny little shards of cheese were everywhere.  I look down and some were sticking to me.  WTH?  In an effort to gain control of this situation, I decided that I would knuckle down and turn it a little faster.  So you can guess what happened next.  Hands were a little slippery, lost control of the knob and the whole thing flew out of my hands JUST MISSING the fish tank.  Kolbie jumped about 10 feet.  And I had, maybe, 1/10th of a cup of cheese.  Desperate times.  Picked up the devil's hand tool, washed it, knicked my finger in the process, cursed a little, cut more cheese and started shredding again.

I gave up on the process about the time I was just shy of the amount of cheese I actually needed.  Oh well.  We will see how this all turns out. 

So y'all can have it.  Pampered Chef, that is.  I am neither pampered, nor am I in any way, shape or form a chef.  But I have and will continue to attend the parties--you know, for moral support of my friends. 

And that, dear people, is why "PC" is not for me.