Drunk-cooking not advisable.

Come along with me, to a snapshot of my life:

It's 2:30 am on a Monday night. (Yes, I know, technically it's a Tuesday morning but shh I'm telling a story.) A 24-year-old girl shuffles home from the bar, up three flights of stairs to her apartment, and smiles as she gazes dreamily upon a stew that has been dutifully crock potting itself for the last six hours. If she can depend on nothing else, my good people, she can depend on this delectable vat of turkey chowder.

She feels a little cloudy-headed as one in her situation would, and is mightily amused and distracted by her phone buzzing with messages from her sentimental pals with the desire to giggle and delight over the antics of the evening. She boils some water, throws some egg noodles in, and starts transferring the stew to a hefty 3-gallon pot.

The noodles finish! She stirs them into the potato/corn/turkey/carrot concoction and tells herself that this stew is one step away from perfection...and that step is named "a generous dash lemon pepper". She shakes the lemon pep over the top of the stew - but wait! - something is amiss. She immediately feels confused about the texture and look of the ingredient. Upon closer inspection, she realizes that she has just covered her stew in...CINNAMON!

And instead of scraping the cinnamon off and salvaging the taste of the soup, she, in her unreasonable state, stirs it in. All the way in. Thus dooming her future sober self to roughly two gallons of cinnamon-flavored turkey chowder.

Stupid, stupid girl.