the power of cabbage . . .

Kidlet loves corned beef and cabbage.  It is one of her favorite meals.  Well, to be truthful, let me edit that statement.  Kidlet loves corned beef and taters.  Cabbage, not so much.  So first thing this morning, I popped the brisket into the crock pot along with some onions, taters and carrots and left it alone to do its thing.

About five something, something, I got hungry but Kidlet's tummy had not yet registered empty/slash/starving.  :She only has two settings:  So I grabbed the cabbage, sliced it into crescents and tossed it into a frying pan along with juice from the crock pot and turned it on to braise. 

Twenty minutes later, while salivating down the right corner of my mouth, I made myself a plate of the above mentioned goodies and headed to the living room to nosh.  Since cabbage and Kidlet are not buds, I left the lid on the pan but turned off the heat.  Something I think I must have done a thousand times before.

This time however, mid meal, I hear a large sucking groan from the kitchen.  Not the type of sound that bodes good news.  With concern plastered on my face, I ran to the kitchen, to find the following:

and no, my lid does not typically look like a silver plated pug with cabbage innards. 

Ascertaining that nothing lethal had occurred, I went back to my dinner before attacking the issue at hand.

After trying a hot water bath followed by a dip in the freezer, I finally pried the lid off the pan.   The pan has survived, the lid had met its maker.

The power of cabbage now scares the willies out of me.  Is this what my insides threaten to do without Beano?  The ramifications are endless . . .