Getting Heated Over The Chili

, , , | Related | October 29, 2020

Tomorrow is a coworker’s birthday.

Coworker: “Could make me some of the turkey chili like the kind you made for our 4th of July office party?”

I agree, and they remind me not to add carrots because they are allergic to it, and not to make it too spicy.

I make enough for two batches, which serves twelve each. One batch is for my coworker, and the other for my family. For the first batch, I try using the slow-cooker, but for the second I have to use the stove to make it quicker.

I walked out of the kitchen to let the first batch cook. I came back when it was about done to find my parents dipping their spoons into the chili: as in, they dunked their spoons into it, ate off said spoons, and used the same spoons to get another spoonful. Eww.

For the second batch, my mom asks:

Mom: “Are you going to put carrots into it?”

Me: “No. In fact, I told you twice, no carrots!”

She is chopping up vegetables while I go to the bathroom. I come out, I check the chili, she added the veggies… with carrots. They are cut so small, I couldn’t scoop them out.

Me: *Upset.* “Why did you add carrots?”

Mom: “Because the recipe called for carrots.”

I remind her that my coworker is allergic. I tell her twice in fact. She tilts her head one way a bit, half closing her eyes, straight-lined mouth, and a light shrug.

Mom: “I didn’t hear you say it.”

When she does that stance and says it like she said it, I know for a fact she heard me. She just brushes what I said right off, and there’s no way to argue with her without it turning into a yelling match. 

I have a little over two hours before work at this point, so I make a run to the store to get what I need to make two more batches. I cook it all on the stove, rather than the slow cooker.

I am making my third batch and my dad is now in the kitchen.

Dad: “I think maybe the chili is too bland. Maybe your coworker would like it to be a bit hotter?”

Me: “It’s hot enough, and I know how to make it.”

I walk off to get ready for work, and you can already see where this is going. My Dad adds some “Mexican Mystery Sauce” anyways. I come back to taste test it, and it’s disgusting! It’s far too sweet and does not blend well with what’s in there, and it’s so d*** hot, tears were coming down my face.

Dad: “What? It’s perfectly fine!”

Even though he can barely eat a spoonful. I dump it into a container and gave it to him.

Fourth Batch:

At this point in time, I have less than an hour to cook it. I cook everything into separate pots and try to mix it together. I forbid my parents from coming into the kitchen while I work.

Me: “Neither one of you is allowed anywhere near the kitchen until I am out the door.”

They are upset with ME over this! They just want to help, but I don’t trust either of them.

I manage to get it into a container, and out the door into my car. I came back in and rush to get ready, spraying down the inside of the pots and pans I used with soap.

Me: “Leave them so I can clean them when I get home.”

Mom: *Furious.* “No! You should clean up that mess before work!”

Me: “No. Because of you and dad, I don’t have time to do it.”

I came home from work to find that my dad cleaned the dishes, and mom tried to make me feel so guilty for that. I pointed out to her that between the two of them, they ruined three batches. My dad did apologize, but my mom was stuck on stubborn and refuses to admit that she was wrong.

Well, at least the fourth batch turned out alright. My coworker ate some there, and really liked it. In the end, it was worth the fuss to get a smile out of them.

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