It's that dangerous time of year: I've been cooking again.

Some people cook because they enjoy the predictability of being able to do something well. They make a favorite recipe knowing the meat will be browned and cooked through, the vegetables will be neither hard nor mushy, the sauce will be silky and nothing will end up welded to the inside of the microwave.

And then there are people like me.

I like to think of what I do as extreme cuisine. Not because the results are impressive, but because I'm never sure what's going to happen and the mishaps can verge on spectacular.

I once embedded a chef's knife in a rutabaga. I broke a spoon off in fudge. I have blown up water.

Oddly, those weren't the aggravations that have driven me to range rage. I suffer from occasional anger-management issues in the kitchen. I have no idea why, but I find washing the dishes infuriating. I will endure lumpy batter, oven overflows, even bread crumbs that get everywhere except on the thing I'm trying to bread, and I'll feel merely beaten. But doing dishes can send me right over the edge.

A few weeks ago, I lost my temper with a plastic spatula. I broke it. I can't remember what it did to enrage me, but I just couldn't take one more second of its insolence.

Clearly, I was putting too much pressure on myself, and possibly on my utensils. I certainly put too much pressure on that spatula; the shrapnel went everywhere. So I needed comic relief.

Thank goodness for tofu.

Every time I write about cooking with tofu, I get e-mails from earnest vegan types who either gently tell me I'm not using the right tofu (sometimes you can't just default to the 30-weight) or gently tell me I'm a barbarian.

It's hard to get your blood up properly when it's all full of plants and fermented kelp.

I have had only two good tofu experiences. One was scrambled tofu that was much better after I added diced ham, and the other was sweet-and-sour tofu prepared by Buddhist monks in Japan. Unfortunately, they don't deliver.

I have almost nothing against tofu. I think it's a perfectly healthful part of a balanced diet, especially when added to food.

However, I was picking up the fragments of my spatula and looking regretfully at my blender, which has had far too little to do since the frozen drink season ended, and suddenly I found the solution: a tofu smoothie.

Don't make that face! I see you twisting your lips up and trying to stuff them into your nostrils for protection. Where's your sense of adventure? I keep mine in my blender.

While not a tofucionado, I recognize that using the right kind of tofu in a recipe makes you less likely to spit it out immediately, so I went to two stores to get soft silken tofu rather than firm silken tofu, which would make a smoothie more like a lumpie.

I put some yogurt, strawberries, blueberries and leftover mango from a cake (which looked much better than it tasted) in the blender with a little Splenda. And then I opened the tofu.

Looking directly at the tofu made me realize why you never see any fat vegetarians. It's not because they don't eat meat. It's because confronting glutinous slabs of grayish sludge as your main protein source spoils your appetite. It's a brilliant diet plan.

The soft silken is recommended for blending into desserts, like smoothies and cheesecakes, because tofu is like a toupee: It's best when you can't tell it's there.

But to keep it squishy and wobbly, you have to store any unused portions covered in water -- and you are advised to change the water daily. It's like trying to keep a jellyfish alive in your fridge.

The good news is that after a few minutes in the blender with things that taste good, the tofu is only barely detectable. I get to drink a smoothie that's good for me and makes me feel healthy, and the jellyfish hasn't stung me yet.

I don't know how I'll fight it if it turns on me. Anyone got a spatula I can borrow?

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