Tag Archives: scrapbook

The Cooking Disaster Chronicles, Part 1

It was called “Summer Garden Delight”. It was summer time. We were bored. I was young and innocent. The kitchen seemed like a great place to do something highly amusing. We threw some vegetables in a pot. We threw in some chili powder. We added water. We threw in some more chili powder. Did I mention that I was young and innocent?

Thank you, Mom, for letting us go at it with no instruction or guidance. It was an important step in our maturing process.

The perpetrators of the Summer Garden Delight

Look at the blond one. It was all her fault! She led me down the primrose path! She instigated the chili powder debauchery, I swear!

Years later: a more mature approach to the kitchen

(please disregard the leopard print underwear hanging from my belt)

Our concoction was completely inedible. I wish there were a “lick and taste” option on the computer screen so that y’all could understand exactly how inedible this was. Then again, I just got an image of people in offices across America dragging their tongues over their computer screens—OK, bad idea. At least that mental picture is saving me a trip to the patent office.

Also, can anyone explain why I just said “Y’all”? I’m not Southern. The blog made me do it!

Back to the point: since that fateful day, I prefer to cook edible things. I generally abstain from heaping in tablespoons upon tablespoons of chili powder, for example, which my husband appreciates–I just know he does. So in the spirit of human progress, and to celebrate my personal and culinary growth between ages 9 and 27, tomorrow I am posting a recipe called “Mush”. Just as “Summer Garden Delight” was a poetic name but a hideous substance that only an alien freak would consume, “Mush” is a hideous name for a delicious dish that no alien would ever consume. Are you confused? Well it’s kind of like one of those “this is like that” questions on the SAT. Right? Right. OK, try not to get hung up on the name and instead envision a very simplified form of ratatouille, in a skillet. I’ve even thought of re-christening it “simple stovetop ratatouille” … but it’s been “mush” for so many years that renaming it might throw the universe off its orbit. Its simplicity makes it the perfect work night meal. And the garlicky flavor … out of this world (not literally “out of this world”, because that would make it alienesque, which as we have already covered, it is not).

The Bun

Heidi is pregnant. My little sister! She and her husband were the cutest babies on record, so it stands to reason that their offspring will pretty much cause everyone in sight to pass out from cuteness overload. Observe the cuteness, and fear for my future as the aunt of this baby–please look closely at the upper righthand picture of baby Mike (have some smelling salts handy):

Baby Mike

Baby Heidi

 

Heidi is in the middle ... Erica to the left, and me to the right

We all had names in the womb. I was always angry about mine:

Jenna=Spud

Erica=Muffin

Heidi=Biscuit (also the name of our 3rd cat)

It’s so convenient to name the little creatures. That way you’re not referring to “it” all the time, especially if you don’t know its gender or don’t want to know. Heidi and Mike have chosen wisely: they call it “the bun”. HOW ADORABLE IS THAT? Picture this:

“Good morning honey! How did you and the bun sleep?”

Or “Is the little bun taking a nap after that kickboxing tournament?”

Anyway, this has prompted discussions between my husband and me. What will we call our future baby-in-the-womb? The very first thing that popped into my brain was “the alien”. Or to be more cute “the little alien”. Because … isn’t that what it looks like? Anyone? Anyone? Yes, I know pregnancy is going to be beautiful and magical, in fact one day I want to experience it myself, but I can’t shake the idea of an extraterrestrial floating in some kind of organic space ship that’s in my belly. With weird feeding tubes all about. And I have to ask myself—do I want to be a space ship? With weird feeding tubes?

I’ll update you on all my conflicting emotions once I have one in the oven.

One day, when my future child is playing with Heidi’s child, just think of the discussions those two little cousins can have :

(Situation 1=alien is a boy)

Heidi’s little one: “Hey guess what, before I was born I was called ‘the bun’!”

My little one: “Oh yeah? Well I was ‘the alien’! Isn’t that awesome! My alien smashes your bun!”

Heidi’s little one: “Cool!”

(Situation 2=alien is a girl)

Heidi’s little one: “Hey guess what, before I was born I was called ‘the bun’! What were you called?”

My little one: [starts weeping uncontrollably] [beats chest] [tears out hair] “I was called . . . I was called the ALIEN!!! I think I’m going to go run away and join a band of anarchist pirate thieves [where a tragic love story and an untimely death will occur] because my parents don’t love me!! I’m a freak and I’m sorry for everything!”

Wow. I didn’t realize that my future little girl would be so scarred and that her pre-birth name would lead to her ultimate demise. I’d better come up with a cuter name. Pronto.

What did you name your pre-birth child? Was it “sweet pea” or “little dahlin”? For those of you who—like myself—have not yet reproduced, what do you plan on naming it? “Pea in the pod”? “Homunculus” or “hotcake”? Maybe I’ll name mine “pancake”—or even better “pamcake” as in “a wagon fulla pamcakes”.

On a side note, did you know that the baby in the womb has little fingernails at 4-5 weeks? These are the thoughts that make me swing between “ew, gross, my body becomes a sci-fi vessel for another being!” and “can I please have 5 babies immediately and name them Cutie, Patootie, Puddin’, Lovecakes, and Fred?”