Thursday, December 16, 2010

Culinary Disasters and Other Sordid Tales

I shouldn't have been surprised.  The morning had been full of high notes and high fives, several important items on my list of  . . . important things had been crossed off or come to a closure point.  I rounded the foyer to a waiting kitchen, and an exciting culinary purpose.

Measuring, mixing, mixing, measuring . . . all in a day's recipe, I thought.  By the time the first batch of delectable meatballs was ready to come out of the oven, I just happened to look over at my workstation, where I saw sitting, as pristinely as I'd placed them, the three eggs.

Yes, the three eggs.


I forgot the eggs????

Yup.  I had.

Well, any a burger had been made without eggs, so perhaps this mistake wasn't truly that bad.  After all . . . those meatballs sure looked good.

That is, until I pulled them out of the oven.  :/

I'd had to frankenstein a baking rack, and had done so using the turkey rack.  Uh-huh.  The one with the wide slats to, you know, hold a turkey.  I felt concern as I placed each meatball securely between each slat, as if it were swinging on a hammock of steel . . . but, they seemed sturdy enough, that I thought all would be well.

It wasn't.  Those wide slats only allowed my meatballs to drop in-betwixt them . . . a swayback meatball, anyone???  But that wasn't the half of it.  As I began to retrieve each meatball with loving care, the damage of no eggs began to shout out at me.  Rip!  Shred!  Stick!


I was bereft.  What else was there to do, except call the fixer of all things?  The GilGuy answered, and readied himself for action.

Me?  I had to take a break.

So, I visited the cat.

The broken meatballs would serve as fodder for supper, whilst I prepared a new batch a'la Gil.

Aubrey liked 'em.  Israel liked 'em.  Gil and Angi liked 'em . . . but Keller?  Keller St John?  He never got to 'em.

That's because at the sound of the dinner call, he decided to jump from the ottoman into mid-air as his brother unsuspectingly walked by.

The resulting and ensuing carnage was more than he could take.  His little busted nose wanted nothing to do with Spaghetti and Meatballs, and by golly, he was going to go to bed.

All I want to know is . . . who's going to do the dishes???  :D

1 comment:

NotaSupermom said...

I think they look delicious!

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