Home | Humor
When it comes to cooking, I’ve always been as out of it as silver spoons at a barbeque. My friend Suzie would rush home from elementary school and whip out her frilly apron. While she spent hours happily mashing oatmeal cookies with a sugar-coated glass, I discovered that it took exactly 14 minutes to melt my sister’s glasses in the EZ Bake oven. When my husband proposed to me, he knew he was getting a woman to whom opening a can of tuna meant a formal dinner party was in the offing. I saved a copy of his marriage proposal in case he ever wanted to divorce me on the grounds I was trying to poison him. Written on the back of a wooden spoon are these immortal words: I can live with soup I eat with a jackhammer, I can live with eggs that bounce like a ball, I can live with toast that resembles a sidewalk, I can live with soufflés that are one-eighth-inch tall. I can live without pepper and sugar and soy sauce, I can live without curry and stew, I’ll say bye-bye forever to culinary pleasure, But I really can’t live without you. When our first child was born, my friend Gail almost talked me into cooking lessons. She’s such a gourmet that her baby’s first solid foods were strained truffles and mashed escargot. I breastfed my children, not because of a deep commitment to Mother Nature, but because I was afraid of blowing up the house if I tried to sterilize the bottles. My children grew up never knowing spaghetti consisted of individual strands. They think chicken is supposed to squawk when you bite into a wing, and that everyone’s dinner parties end with guests making odd noises in the bathroom. My mother, who is a wonderful cook, refuses to believe I’m not. Last Christmas she sent me a pasta machine. My husband’s uncalled for remark—“That’s like sending an arsonist five gallons of gas and a blow torch”—did not discourage me from trying one of the exotic recipes that accompanied the gadget: Ravioli a La Falkland Islands Put on your trencher fresh flour. Shell and mash nuts using a moulinette. Cut aubergines into thin slices, salt and lay on inclined dish to allow the water they get out to slip away. Add peeled tomatoes cutted into thin slices (after having taken away the seed and inner ribs of these latters). Put hashed up spinaches in bowl adding minced ham and emmenthal together with 2 yolks of eggs. Add buttermilk curd and minced boiled beet leaves. Add one clover of garlic. Cut cheese into cubes and plunge for a couple of hours into milk. Stir accurately. The mixture should be well amalgamated. The sauce should be fluid but rather consistent, therefore you can arrange the fluidity varying elements quantity. Dilute with some ladles full of water. Cook on a slow fire avoiding roasting. Place ravioli into vol-au-vent and pour it on previously prepared sauce adding a few entire kernels. Stir letting become tasty. ________________ I stirred for three days but it never did become tasty unless you consider inner tubes sautéed in motor oil a gourmet treat. Perhaps something was lost in the translation. Two days after the ravioli fiasco, my oldest son tried to console me. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m really not that embarrassed when we show up at potluck dinners with month-old potato chips and a pail of water.”
Article Source: http://www.articledestination.com
WANT TO USE THIS ARTICLE IN YOUR E-ZINE OR WEB SITE? Go right ahead. But please be sure to include this information: Copyright 2005 Lynn Colwell www.bloomngrow.net
Please Rate this Article 5 out of 54 out of 53 out of 52 out of 51 out of 5
Not yet Rated
Search This Site
Top Authors Most Popular Articles Submission Guidelines Ezine Notifications Article RSS Feeds About Us Contact Us Privacy Policy Terms of Service
Powered by Article Dashboard
