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Browsing Tag: #cooking
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…
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…
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…
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…
