Of Cabbages and Kings...

I made corned beef last night.

This is a big deal. HUGE!

I did not make cabbages though. On this point, I want to be clear.

The reason that this is a big deal is because corned beef terrifies me. Not the meat itself; no, of that, I am most fond. It is the entire process of the making of the meal. You see, my father made the most excellent corned beef, having learned from his mother. It was perfectly spiced and tender and my mouth still waters. And it also involved the most deadly piece of kitchen equipment known to man. The "pressure cooker of death"! Seriously. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that this pot would kill me given the chance, and I wholeheartedly believed this. And it scared the bejesus out of me! Yea, verily, it did. The cooker itself was rather innocent looking enough... with the exception of the mysterious gadget affixed to the lid. Of the pot itself, I had no fear. But that gadget... that round, wobbly instrument of presumed death... THAT was what would do me in! Once the cooking process was begun, and the enticing smells started seeping out, drawing one ever closer... that was where the danger lay! And the wobbly would begin its dance. Slowly at first, then ever more feverishly. Dancing, and wobbling, and singing, and wobbling, and steaming, and wobbling. I assumed it would lure you in, that pot of savoriness, wait for just the right moment... and WHAM! Off the wobbly would fly, hit me square between my young eyes, and end me. Right there, in the kitchen. (It was the pot, in the kitchen, with the wobbly!)

Now, the wobbly never once came flying off, not in all the years (and years, and years) of corned beef that my father made. I never gave it the chance. I kept my distance, knowing that if I dropped my guard, it was death by wobbly for me. I grew up, moved out, and never attempted a proper corned beef. This was mainly due to my refusal to ever own a pressure cooker. Nope, it wasn't inviting that danger into my home! I attempted to cook them a couple times, using misguided Dutch Oven or oven braised recipes. It can't be done, I figured... that wonderful, tender goodness... unless you risk your life! I was doomed to tough, bland chunks of sadness.

So, ok, I was wrong. There is this new miracle thing out there, and the House got one for Christmas this year. (That is an entirely different writing to be attempted another time.) This thing... this "Instant Pot" of wonder... well, it did it! A little Guinness, a little broth... some onions... (also another writing to be found on Stuff We Eat a Lot another time) and it happened! A wonderful lump of perfection that corned beef of my youth! Without the foreboding.... without the fear! Well, maybe just a little fear. I did need to push the "Pressure" button. And release the steam. But I did it.

It is said, "Do one thing every day that scares you." Challenge accepted , fear conquered. I suppose facing my fear of phyllo dough is next.