Ew. Now I remember why I rarely cook meat. Lord have mercy, does the smell linger. Why can't the scent of the chocolate cake I baked on Saturday linger? The smell from the good stuff I make doesn't seem to hang around very long.
The World's Worst Wing Woman came over last night for dinner since The Boy I Currently Like was sick and had to cancel on me. She figured she'd be able to get in on a clean apartment and/or food and drinks if she swooped in to keep me company at the last minute. And bless her heart, she was right. I froze the lasagna I'd planned to make and instead made us a couple of sirloin steaks and oven-roasted potatoes with Herbes de Provence.
Sadly, I burned the oven-roasted Brussels sprouts. We got talking and I forgot to check on them. Oh well, she didn't want them anyway. I'd thought about making the steaks for me and The Boy, but I didn't want to spend a shitload of time in the kitchen when he was there. Having now done the steaks and burned the Brussels sprouts, I know I made the right decision. Plus, there's the whole stinky apartment thing I wanted to avoid.
My hoodie smells of broiled meat. I thought I smelled it in my hair, but I think I was imagining that. I woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of cooking. YUCK. Maybe it's just my extra-sensitive nose, but the smell hanging around in my apartment just drives me fucking nuts. Open windows, fans, candles do nothing.
I suppose I can take solace in the fact that it smells like cooking and not say, rotten ass, in my apartment. But still ... Boo, stinky apartment. Boo!