Sunday morning I woke up to a weird smell that I’d call a mix of burnt potato chips, campfire, and fresh cut grass. I rubbed my eyes and rolled over to fall SMACK onto the floor. It took a minute for me to realize that I had fallen asleep on the couch watching DVR. It took me another few minutes of deciphering the smell before I realized…
…I had fallen asleep while making soup
After running to the kitchen to turn off the stove and move the pot of black charcoal looking used-to-be-soup fixings, I cursed myself and thanked my lucky stars that I didn’t burn the place to the ground. I did the math to figure out that I had slept through the kitchen timer AND the smell for 8 hours. I had slept in my jeans and t-shirt, sitting up on the couch, for 8 hours.
Yes, this does, very much so, sound like the end to a drunken night out. No, that was not the case. I had chaperoned a bunch of teens at their formal dance and got home at 11:30 and was hungry, so I tried to make soup. Obviously I failed.
Thing to know: this is not a particularly new thing for me. I have a tendency to fall asleep while prepping or cooking food. And, with the exception of Saturday night, it only happens when I’m drunk.
In the past I have made tuna casserole at 2am – much to the chagrin and future taunting by my roommate – that I forgot to put in the fridge after eating a small amount. The smell wafting through the apartment when we woke up later was deafening. I don’t know how a smell can be deafening, but that’s how horrible it was.
I’ve tried making pizza (who hasn’t) after a night out and left it in the oven overnight. Luckily, the place I lived at the time had a timer on the oven and when the timer went off, so did the oven.
In college, my drunk food was almost ALWAYS mac and cheese or nutella spread on a tortilla and rolled into a little roll of deliciousness. My roommate had a hot dog drunk food obsession. I’ve also obsessed over sour cream and onion potato chips while drunk… to the point of having a conversation with a stranger about why that is the most perfect chip flavor.
Once I realized I had a problem with “cooking” while drunk and that I was putting myself, my dog, and my apartment building in danger, I made the smartest drunk decision of my life:
I purchased a TON of microwaveable chef boyardee meals and put them on a shelf that I called the “drunk food” shelf.
I had solved my problem, right?!
WRONG… kind of.
I had solved one problem: no more possibly burning down the apartment. I had found a new problem: I was now passing out in the 2 minutes it took to cook said microwaveable food.
Real Talk: the 2 minutes it takes to cook a small thing of Beefaroni is long enough for me to pass out on top of my bed, fully clothed (shoes included), a drawstring backpack on my back still, my head at the foot of the bed, my phone under my face and with a spoon in my hand. 2 minutes. I’m a pass out NINJA.
I thought I had solved the issue by curbing the drinking…
That is, until this Sunday morning when I woke up to crispy soup.