Courage in the kitchen

My fear of using the pressure cooker is rational and understandable. My first experience with this kitchen monster, was when my mother was in a rush to make chicken soup; she decided to use the stainless-steel stove top pressure cooker, so we could have the soup that evening. I’m not sure of the specifics, or what was the catalyst for the catastrophe, but suddenly my sister and I heard a loud blast from the kitchen, screams followed by colorful words I didn’t even know she knew, a loud hissing sound, and in a flash, the ceiling, cabinets, floors and countertops were covered with bits of chicken, carrots, celery, onions and greasy chicken water. We worked for hours to clean up what seemed to be the mess of the century.

Later in life, I taught the cooking classes at Williams-Sonoma. I dreaded the day I would be assigned to teach and demo the Instant Pot pressure cooking class. Eventually the day came; my heart sank, I was clammy, my knees knocked, I thought of calling in sick, but instead I bravely faced my fear. This 8-quart stainless-steel machine was not going to beat me. I read through the recipe I was assigned to teach, Barbequed Chicken Thighs. Simple, straight forward and as it turned out, delicious. And all done in 15 minutes. Victory was mine!

As a reward for overcoming my fear, the store manager gifted me a brand-new Instant Pot. With my newfound confidence I decided to vindicate my mother’s disaster. I decided to make chicken soup. I would show the steel monster who was boss! The monster won; I was defeated!

Unlike my usual freewheeling, I followed the recipe from the Instant Pot cookbook to a “T.” I did everything in the order listed, I measured every ingredient, I hit the buttons and timed the machine just the way the recipe explained. When the time was done, I opened the vent to let the steam out, according to the directions (I thought). Steam released with enough force to send an Apollo rocket into space and continued to spew forth for what seemed like an eternity. My cabinets, floor, ceiling and countertops were covered in chicken scented water. I vented too soon; as usual, I rushed the process.

By the time it all stopped, and I could open the cooker, there was the chicken, still drowning in liquid. The stock was watery, with no flavor, carrots and onions were mush and the onions had totally disintegrated.

Undaunted, I tried beans. Again, I lost the battle. They were hard as rocks and needed to be cooked at least twice as long as the book suggested.

I am not a quitter! Like the song says, “I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman.” Just not one that has the power over a pressure cooker. And, I assure you, power tools are not in my future!

I was planning to try again this week, but I have a friend coming to visit Thursday, I don’t want to spend the week, cleaning chicken parts from the walls. I am determined, I will conquer pressure cooking soon. So, if you see a blast of steam coming from my house, or chicken parts flying out the window, duck, get out of the line of fire, but please don’t laugh, just appreciate that I tried.

Meanwhile, If anyone has any hints, or tips, please let me know (recipesbyvicki@gmail.com), but, if they don’t work, you're obligated to come help peel chicken off the wall.