I'll deliver the punch line first. No, I didn't cheat.
It started Tuesday night. My daughter is doing homework and has been for the last two hours. She started shortly after dinner, which my wife made, which was a typical frozen bag of pasta, meat and vegetables in a oily, buttery sauce. With three kids, three sports and a high school play to drive to, those meals are sometimes the best available.
So, my daughter, says she is hungry. I was unpacking and hooking up the new TV I got for Channukah/Christmas from a loving wife that knows how much I will enjoy it while being off from work during post op. What kind of father would I be if I allow her to interrupt her homework efforts to prepare something to eat while I'm wrestling with TV cords?
Check the freezer, hmmn, a burger? That would be easy, put it in a pan, continue assembling the 9,000 lb stand where the TV will sit, flip the burger - you get the idea. Perfect, right?
I'm a bit of a hoobbyist chef. I hate cooking the ready to prepare meals, like the one prepped this very night, but I love the labor of food prep. When preparing meats, I'm a medium rare guy. But in my house of 5, I'm the only one. Everyone else , their burgers must resemble the color and consisteny of a hockey puck. When I believe the burger is done, I have to verify there is no pink, so I make a little cut, lift the burger with the spatula and pry the sliver further open with my fingers to verify. It's perfect. I place the patty on the bun and, out of habit, I lift my hand to my mouth to rid my finger tips of the oily burger residue.
Mind you, through the whole cooking process, I smelled the burger as it slowly accepted the salt and pepper I added to it. I listened as it sizzled. And I was a rock of will power, not even tempted.
So here I am with my thumb and forefinger a hair from my mouth. Frozen with fear. I yell some vulgarities and wash my hands with soap and water - twice - just to be sure.
Insult to injury, I food shopped last night!
Thank you to all the commenters, you guys are great.