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The killer raspberries

Every once in a while, I try something new in the kitchen. Sometimes it works out ...like my now signature fleur d'oranger mixed berry cake. Other times, not so much.

There was this guy at university who swears I tried to kill him with the chicken. I say to this, you can't prove it. But even I have to admit how sad that little burnt to a crisp thing looked when it came out of the oven. Yet, I put it on a plate. Desperation? Chutzpah?

In any case, yesterday, inspiration hit and I tried to make little raspberry tartelettes. They looked cute and they tasted even better. I was really proud of myself.

That is, until the rash and itching started.

As my love scratched his way through November Man (highly recommend this movie), all I could think was, I can't believe I had baked up some killer raspberries.

In the middle of the night, my love woke me exclaiming...it's the laundry soap! It's the laundry soap! We're allergic to the laundry soap!

This is one of the million reasons I love this man. He wants to blame the laundry detergent that we've used for about 5 years over my inability to identify the suspicious looks of sketchy raspberries.

Like the geeks we are, we decided to do a little controlled experiment. First, we keep the soap and change out the raspberries for strawberries. This morning, he ate a strawberry tartelette for his petit déjeuner. I will do a load of laundry using the same soap.

Results are pending. But one thing is for sure.

For the next little while, I will leave the cooking to my love, who, as a biochemist, is an infinitely better cook than his wife who maybe, just maybe, (and only by accident) almost killed a guy with the chicken.