Choose your own adventure blog post:
If you’d like to watch a disastrous hummus situation on Friends, click here.
If you’d like to read about a disastrous hummus situation in real life, keep reading.
For some reason, even though I knew my blender was broken and I don’t own a food processor, I decided it would be a great idea to make hummus. Never mind that I didn’t have tahini and couldn’t find it in the grocery store. I live in Astoria, so after waiting in line for 20 minutes behind one person at the Greek grocery store, that issue was eliminated. Forget the fact that I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home and relax and go to sleep at 9pm. Making hummus was more important than relaxing.
Making hummus should be just as effortless as making a microwave meal, actually. The instructions on the recipe assured me of this (not in so many words, but trust me, that’s what they meant). And yet, after turning on the blender for the first time and watching the tahini and lemon juice mixture start seeping out the bottom, I knew I was in for more than any recipe could account for.
Logically, if you see the thing you’re making is sliding out the bottom of the vessel you’re using, you should probably give up right then.
But hummus! (Or, more accurately, stubbornness!)
So I kept securing the blender even tighter to its base, kept adding ingredients, and kept inspecting the bottom to make sure the entire contents didn’t come out before I could finish the recipe. Each time I turned the blender on, I smelled a faint burning odor.
Ignore it! Hummus!
Finally, when I had added the first batch of chickpeas–this recipe suggested adding half the amount at a time–2 pieces of plastic flew off of the blender. It was literally falling apart before my eyes. Only then did I admit defeat, pour out the half-blended hummus mixture, mash up the rest of the chickpeas by hand, and taste my concoction.
It tasted okay–not how it was supposed to, of course, since some of the ingredients were still stuck in the bottom of the blender.
The “better than store-bought” hummus recipe said it would take 10 minutes to make. 40 minutes after I started, I had a chunky, way too garlicky, vaguely reminiscent of hummus (but not entirely) dip in front of me.
I recognize there’s something wrong with this scenario, but I can’t quite bring myself to say I should have given up earlier. I may be stubborn, I may inadvertently sabotage things because of it, I may create way more work and dirty dishes and late dinners as a result, but at least I didn’t quit. I know this means nothing to you, but somehow it makes me feel better to acknowledge it.