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Category: Cookin’
I cook a lot. And I frequently have mishaps.
Baking is finicky business. You have to be precise in your measurements, read everything carefully, use name brand everything (because fats in butters vary from the good stuff to the mediocre, and store bought sugar is heavier because it’s sifted more…which you would think would be a good thing.) This is three cups of sugar, six eggs, three cups of sifted flour, three sticks of butter, a block of cream cheese MESS. I have rarely been so disappointed for anything in my life. I have also rarely been as ill-prepared. Here was the trouble: I’ve been kinda sick. Not like, throwing up, circling the drain sick, more of the snotty nosed variety that induces whining. I had promised to make the following for Christmas dinner: mashed potatoes, sausage balls, and a cream cheese pound cake. Nevermind that I have never made a pound cake in my life. I had bought a huge box of Philadelphia cream cheese at Sam’s Club a few weeks before Thanksgiving in preparation for the upcoming sausage ball making holiday ahead. But I forgot I had done so, and found it on sale at Food City so I bought the requisite three. Imagine my dismay, er, surprise, when I went to put it in the cheese drawer at home. So all there was to do was make a cheesecake. Have you ever actually made a cheesecake? Or have you only ever selfishly devoured them without…
Good things today: My sweet friend Lori made me lunch. Corn chowder, cornbread, bacon wrapped chestnuts (have you ever had a bacon wrapped chestnut??? Holy crap. It’s an experience I would like to repeat very soon. Like maybe right now.), red velvet cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies, and white chocolate cranberry cookies. I was cold and it warmed me from the inside out instantly. I got mermaid mail from my sweet friend Donna. She shouldn’t have. But look who is right at home: The Goonies is on. I do love me some Goonies. Bad things: We had waterline woes at work today. It was all I could do not to bang my head against my desk. On second thought, maybe I did. My forehead is a little sore. I got home and started making dinner- boiling potatoes for mashed taters and decided to turn my crock pot back on to warm. I peek in and notice that things don’t look just right. I raise the lid, give the pork chops a poke, and realize I never turned it on. I guess in my rush this morning I left out a crucial step. This made me crazy mad, as I had purposely pulled out my oldest crockpot for the express reason it cooks the slowest and I didn’t want them to get overdone and dried out. I’ve not got one of those fancy ones on a timer…
How many times can one have a mishap in the kitchen in two weeks’ time, I ask you? Well, I’m gonna tell you about three…that happened to this girl I know. You might say a friend of a friend. A perfect stranger, really. Scenario One: You sit at work daydreaming all day about what you’re going to have for supper. You have the menu all planned out and you’ve starved yourself nearly to death by 3:00. You come home and begin making the supper you’ve carefully thought out, in this case broccoli and cheese soup and Red Lobster cheddar biscuits (buy yours HERE, they’re fabulous). You’re reading the back of the box to make sure you’ve got your butter/ cheese ratio correct and see a plug for their new Parmesan-Rosemary blend biscuits. While they sound appetizing, it’s not something you would pick up. Or maybe, but not in the bulk box the first time. They’d probably be tasty with pork chops, or herbed chicken. You begin to mix the water and dough mix. Something doesn’t smell right. It doesn’t smell bad, it just doesn’t smell like it normally does. You turn the box around slowly. Sure enough, you have accidently bought the parmesan type. Crap on a cracker. You’re not having chicken, you’re having cheddar…
I was starving. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was reaching for my phone when I should have been reaching for the Cheerios. I wanted to eat my avocados before I forget about them, like I have the last two or so dozen that I’ve purchased. I even went so far as to lay one on the counter last night to speed ripening and remember that’s what I needed to consume. Johnny had gone camping, so I needn’t worry about him saying how gross they were (mind you, he chows down on guacamole). I logged onto to that curse of so many women, Pinterest. And of course I see these “Avocado Nests” that look delectable and easily prepared. If those teenyboppers over at Buzzfeed can do it, so can I. Perhaps I should have let my avocados ripen a bit more, but no matter. I freed the nut and dutifully scraped a larger hole out. I pondered the possibility of only a pair filling me up. Best make two. Then I cracked the first egg and encountered my first big problem. Evidently everyone else uses ginormous avocados with micro eggs. Because my egg went everywhere. I frantically scooped it up and tried to make an extra large egg fit into an average avocado. Repeat times four. I’m not at my brightest at seven in the morning. Luckily, I only busted one yolk. Then the…
I don’t make any plans beyond what to eat and what to read when there’s snow on the ground. Usually it’s soup or chili. Something hearty, you know. Yesterday was no different. While eating breakfast, I was plotting supper. I decided on chili. And I like Mexican Cornbread with my chili when I have time. So much more savory than crackers. But it is a bit of a pain. It involves lots of dirty dishes. But first things first: snow cream. It surprised me a few years ago when we got about 7″ of snow dumped on us and so many of my Facebook friends were asking for the recipe. Recipe? I’m pretty sure that was the first thing I learned to “cook” because it didn’t involve an oven and the secret is you just add more sugar till it tastes good. Step 1: Gather snow. It’s best to get it somewhere your dogs haven’t been, for obvious reasons. But you might want to think about birds, too. Typically the hoods of cars provide unblemished snow. Get more than you think you’ll need. And if this is the wet, heavy stuff, you really gotta hustle. Step 2: Reserve about a quarter of the snow to another bowl unless you don’t mind going back out or can send a minion/ husband/ child. Add milk, LOTS of granular sugar, and a…
I’ve been craving fajitas since Christmas Eve. I wanted to make tacos for Christmas dinner and Johnny said it was sacrilegious. I think we had chicken pot pie instead. Like, I’m totally sure Jesus would prefer tacos on his birthday, but whatever. Anyway, since he’s camping with his buddies this Saturday, I get whatever I want on Friday. Usually I make him take me to Maryville for Chili’s or Cheddars, and maybe peruse Hobby Lobby and the bookstore while we’re at it. I rarely push my luck for a movie, but it does come under consideration on occasions when I’m particularly vexed. So it was decided early in the week that we would finally satisfy my fajita famine this Friday, unless an oyster craving took over my life between now and then. No, I’m not pregnant. I just like food. So after two full days worth of snow advisory warnings and twelve hours of on again/off again snow showers, we bundled up and set off, he in his camo, and me in my Lularoe. We take note of the specials and settle into our booth, making conversation with our favorite waitress (her kids are already hoping they won’t have to go to school Monday, nevermind the snow has yet to stick). We enjoy our drippy cheese dip. We make fun of the Yankees in the booth behind us. Our tiny…
I….I….I…. Ahhh-CHOO!!!! I swanny. All I want on my days off are to be able to relax. I love staying home. The rainier and colder it is, the better. I’ll loll about, reading two or three books, leisurely fix breakfast, maybe do some light housekeeping. I’ll bake cookies, troll Facebook, maybe pin some recipes or crafts that I have no aspirations of creating. I’ve been craving fajitas for four days, but when going-out time rolls around, either Johnny or I don’t feel like venturing out. I made the typical New Years Feast yesterday (for the non-southerners out there, that consists of collards, kraut-n-weenies, fried taters, cornbread, and black eyed peas disguised as soup beans…because they actually were soup beans because black eyed peas are dis.gust.ing.). We technically should have eaten those leftovers today, but you know me, always thinking ahead…so I decided to go ahead and make supper tonight that way we could have the soup bean conglomeration tomorrow night, so that I wouldn’t have to cook after working all day. Once that was decided, I sought out a roast from the freezer. And boy did I find one! It was enormous and I plopped it in the sink to thaw. An hour and a half later, I skipped into the kitchen to transfer it to the crock pot. This is where I encountered…
About halfway through making stuffed shells, I remember why I rarely make stuffed shells. The massive pile of dirty dishes. It starts with chopping an onion & garlic. This is where Johnny is lured by the captivating smell & has to investigate what dish is underway. He leans around me & inspects the proceedings. “Got yourself a smelly little pile there, dontcha?” Meaning the onion & garlic skins. I’m more worried about draining all this spinach & note that some has managed to stick to my forearm, giving me the appearance of Sprout, the Jolly Green Giant’s sidekick. Toss onions into the oil, which spatters because I’m in a hurry & have the electric skillet up too high. The stockpot water is boiling away, so I try to add three jumbo shells at a time, as per package instructions, but quickly lose patience & dump the whole box in. Need to dig out the colander before I forget & then I’ve got a pot of noodles al dente with no place to go. Become distracted by grating cheese. Remember to add basil. Check basil plant. It’s been eaten by an unseen pest. Drag dining room chair over to cabinet to peer into the depths for dried variety. Looks a little old…oh well, better than nothing. Mix spinach, cheeses, egg, bread crumbs, & spices in mixer. Retrieve 9×13…
Happy Thanksgiving Eve! For those of you who are told to bring rolls, or just yourself, be thankful. For those of you making cole slaw for the first time, I have advice: reserve one-quarter of the cabbage head in case you screw up & add too much vinegar or salt. Or mayo, but I like mayonnaise, so I don’t see that as a problem. But there ain’t nothin’ nastier than salty cole slaw. For those of you making mashed potatoes: make double what you think you’ll need. And add milk sparingly. It’s hard to cook it out if you add too much. Use salt & butter liberally. For those of you cooking biscuits the secret is prayer. It helps to sift your flour, too, but I believe it really it comes down to your relationship with Jesus. For those of you cooking turkey: cook your bird upside down. I am not joking. It makes the white meat much juicier. My mom discovered this by accident, but it’s the way she always fixed it thereafter. And me too. For all of you, Happy Thanksgiving. May it be relaxing & filling…
Y’all ain’t gonna believe this. So, you know how yesterday I was telling you about dropping 500 horseshoe nails in the floor? And how I compared it to dropping toothpicks? Well. I’m in the kitchen, fixin’ spaghetti, the aroma of onions & garlic filling the air, pasta bubbling away on the stove. I go to get the Italian seasoning out of the cabinet. This would be the cabinet above the stove, crammed with all manner of spices, excess olive oil, Crisco, & whatnot. It happened so suddenly, I’m not sure what happened. I’m standing there, toothpicks raining down around me, when Johnny appears from the basement with the garlic bread I had requested from the chest freezer. I stood paralyzed. They were everywhere: in my hair, on the stove, scattered all over the floor, IN THE PASTA. I sprang into action, frantically scooping them out with a spaghetti fork. Did you know toothpicks float? Well, you do now. About that time, I smelled something burning. I hadn’t put the bread in yet (that’s what I typically burn) so it couldn’t be that. There were several charred toothpicks lying under the eye. I turned the burner off, moved the pot, & turned the blower on, sucking away the smoke that was making my eyes water. I think this catastrophe was somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 toothpicks. I bought one of those containers from…
