I felt sorry for the person who posted recently about their roommate using their coffee grinder to grind up spices. Families are worse.
I started cooking when I was around 9yrs old and took over the family cooking at 12, because my mother went on strike for several years because I complained so much about her horrible cooking. Life was really hell surrounding the food issue when I grew up. I was the only 'hound in the family. Everyone else in my family had no taste.
When I moved out as a teen I thought I would never have to deal with that crap again...
Two weeks ago I received a few organic, pasture raised heirloom chickens and a 7 lb., organic, pasture raised, Berkshire / Kurobuta pork roast as partial pay from a farmer client. I cut it up into three manageable portions for myself, and have been rationing it out over two weeks. This is probably the best piece of pork available in the US right now and I don't think anyone else is yet producing organic, pasture raised, Berkshire / Kurobuta style pork like this in the US. The hogs were finished on organic chestnuts, apples, acorns, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, and other great stuff during the fall. They were so fat that they could barely walk as they neared the end. The meat was so well marbled it looked like top grade Kobe Beef, practically more white creamy fat than red meat (not pale like commercial pork.) The farmer had only two hogs to slaughter this year since he is trying to establish a herd. He sold the other roast similar to mine for $300 to a top chef. I cooked up the first piece two days ago and it was fantastic. My folks were visiting today and I was going to cook up the second piece as a special meal for them.
I ran out to the store to pick up some odds and ends and I came home to find that mom had fried up some of my organic, pasture raised chicken breast from the fridge for my dad, which he then decided he didn't want. I was a little upset that they decided to cook up some of my chicken while I was out, especially since I went out to get some great ingredients for dinner. But at least they hadn't eaten the chicken, so now I could still make the meal I had planned. I got down to some serious cooking, working up a huge batch of fancy wild mushrooms into a great sauce. I went to grab the pork from the fridge and it wasn't there.
Unbeknownst to me, while I was out shopping my father said to my mother that a piece of meat had been sitting too long in my fridge and to throw it out, he had seen it there last week. (He had seen the first piece of pork there, the rest was in the freezer.) So in addition to my nice chicken breast, mother had also cooked up my amazing pork, English style, i.e., sliced into thin strips and fried until it was leather. I almost cried to see such incredible, luscious, expensive, and hard to get meat, absolutely ruined. So I ended up serving the wild mushroom sauce over fried leather. I choked down my dinner which was way too salty from the tears that streamed uncontrollably down my face.