Cursed chicken cacciatore served over whole wheat penne.
Tonight is a cub scout den meeting at our house. We have to eat and clean up by 6:30. Usually on scout nights I just make the kids something like frozen pizza or macaroni & cheese, and then Chuck and I will eat later if we're hungry. But it was miserably cold and raw and gray today, threatening to snow. So I thought, wouldn't it be nice to make a hot, hearty stew? It'll make the whole house smell good when everyone gets home, it'll be so comforting.
So I got out my crock pot. Here are the things that happened while I made the chicken: (1) I overheated the oil, causing messy (and painful!) splatters; (2) a full jar of something, I think it was coriander but I was distracted, fell out of the spice rack and shattered, spraying tiny shards of fragrant glass all over the kitchen; (3) two of said shards embedded themselves in my wrist; and (4) while I was cleaning up the mess, a broom fell off the broom rack and hit me in the face.
At dinner, the children at my house who are articulate enough to do so announced that they do not care for chicken cacciatore. The baby threw pieces of it across the room until we took it away from him.
Having eaten it myself, I am now reasonably confident no glass got into the chicken.