I know smoking foods is a popular method of cooking, and I wanted to try my hand at it. Traditionally people use a smoker, but since I didn’t have one of those available, I just used my steamer. And I smoked up some broccoli. OK, if I’m honest, I didn’t start out wanting to smoke broccoli. I really used the steamer because I wanted steamed broccoli. I like steamed broccoli. Smoked broccoli doesn’t sound as appealing. And I can now say, on the other side of the experiment, that smoked broccoli is some rank stuff. Do not eat it. Better yet, don’t even prepare it. But if you do prepare it, perhaps in some unfortunate situation where say you put water in the bottom of your steamer pan and maybe you throw a dance party, or your dog texts you from the adjoining room requesting a command concert performance and you immediately comply because you love that, or you putz around the house doing I can’t even recall what now but surely it must have been exciting because why oh why did I forget about that damn pot, or maybe I was watching that damn AMC Breaking Bad marathon because I couldn’t tear myself away from that despite the fact that I had already watched EVERY SINGLE DAMN EPISODE ALREADY, SOME EVEN TWICE, and maybe you left the pot unattended for some undisclosed amount of time during which said high maintenance pot apparently needed more water, stupid old whiny pot, well, all I’m saying is it’s really best if you don’t eat the contents of that steamer pot. Unnecessary PSA #14890. (If you’ll draw your attention to my About Me section, you’ll notice that I’m not afraid of a run-on sentence. Nor am I afraid of changing subjects and verb tenses mid-stream. Rules, you have been flouted! I believe I’ve effectively demonstrated that in this post. I do apologize. When you stop twitching, please do read on.)
As I sauntered into the kitchen to check on the progress of my steamed broccoli, I became aware of the transition from steamed broccoli to smoked broccoli. After a quick mourning period for the loss of a nice side of steamed broccoli, the cleanup began. Steel wool, while extremely effective, was only able to bring the pot back to about 50% with a LOT of elbow grease. In fact, Matthew had to do the steel wool work. I wasn’t able to do much of it with my tiny little doll hands. After we exhausted that avenue, I pulled out the pièce de résistance. Bar Keeper’s Friend.
I put some of this on a paper towel with some water and made a magic paste. I scrubbed that ruined pot with a minimal amount of effort and SHAZAM!!! The pot was restored. What’s in that magic stuff, anyway? I can only imagine that it’s made up of shards of diamonds because it polished the pot until it looked like it had just been purchased. (Oh, if only I had possessed the intelligence to take pictures to chart the transformation.) I do have to wonder what in the world bartenders across the world are cleaning up that they need this magic concoction to eradicate it? Because I’m pretty afraid of what that might be. Now, what else can I use this magic paste for?
(Ed. Note: Yes, I read the label, and I know what else I can use the magic paste for. I’m ready to think outside the box.)