It's Raining Orzo in the Kitchen

No one is immune from making mistakes, even messy ones. As this author makes quite the scene in the kitchen, it gives rise to laughter. We always have a choice in how we react to situations.

It was raining orzo in our kitchen; I kid you not. For those of you that don’t know, orzo is tiny bits of pasta, only slightly larger than grains of rice. And it was raining orzo in our kitchen. How did this happen? Me. All me. And honestly, I’m still laughing about it.

I love my husband unconditionally, and he loves me unconditionally. We laugh at each other all the time. It’s just who we are. We laugh at our clumsiness, our corniness, our everything.

That night I was cooking dinner, a family favorite. Chicken with orzo (with artichokes and green olives, in a sauce of white wine, garlic, lemon zest, etc. and garnished with feta cheese and dill). Anyway, as I was searing the chicken in olive oil in a cast iron skillet, my husband came over and remarked about how he detailed the kitchen earlier that day. (I know, he’s a keeper.)

I glanced over at the otherwise pristine stove and saw olive oil splatters making their mark. Maybe today wasn’t the best night for this recipe. Poking fun at me he asked if it couldn’t keep it clean for at least 24 hours. We both laughed. Little did we know, the night was still young.

The chicken had been removed, and I went to add butter, garlic, and orzo to the skillet. This step was time sensitive, and only took two minutes. The butter was sizzling, I added the garlic, and then grabbed the orzo.

Suddenly, a big burst of oil cracked in the air hitting my hand. The hand holding a full cup of orzo. Because of course. Needless to say, the orzo went flying.

It was officially raining orzo in the kitchen, and it went EVERYWHERE.

But wait, now I needed more orzo, pronto. Forget about all the orzo covering the kitchen. I was rapidly losing time as the butter and garlic sizzled. I called for reinforcements from my husband. “Quick, hand me more orzo. Now! It’s time sensitive.”

He calmly looked up from his magazine and went into the pantry and added some to the pan. He had not witnessed nor yet seen the disaster, though he was knee-deep in it. Worried that he may slip, I told him to be careful. I spilled some orzo.

At that point he took in the state of the counters and the floors. It took him a beat to grasp the sheer magnitude of it all, maybe shock is the proper word. After the shock, he started chuckling. He started cleaning it up as I told him I’ll get it, I just couldn’t at that moment. He got on his hands and knees to address this orzo catastrophe. I told him again that I’ll get it when I’m done, and he said no, he’s more concerned about me slipping and hurting myself. And he started laughing as he was cleaning it up. And then I started laughing.

As a side bar, he has a point. Over our twenty-three-year span of being together, I’ve broken my toes on two separate occasions, and had a significant fall that tore pretty much everything in my left foot.

And so, we were both laughing as I attempted to resume cooking and he cleaned up all the orzo, bit by tiny bit. Every time we looked at each other, we started laughing uncontrollably.

Our poor kitchen did not make it 24 hours without a disaster, but we did restore it to its luster that night.

I’m not telling this story only because it’s funny--even though it is. You have to laugh at the things life throws in your way. Many situations can lead to petty arguments, childish mannerisms, or cloud an otherwise beautiful day.

But that is a choice you make. You can choose to lean into your negative emotions, or you can laugh. You could get angry or annoyed that a room you cleaned was destroyed by your spouse. Or you could laugh because it was unintentional in a perfectly timed, comedic skit kind of way.

Choose thoughtfully how you react to situations. How you react has a direct effect on yourself and others. One brings bitterness and the other joy.

We choose joy. And orzo.