I was sitting here thinking about the upcoming weekend, I am looking forward to going out with my wife for dinner and a movie. We have not been able to go out for some time due to the "wedding" preparations. Kristine is married now so there is a brief break in the action. This will not last long because Karlee has recently announced that she and Alex will be getting married in March. I can already hear the sucking sound money makes as it is drained from an account. Back on topic, I was thinking about food and where Melinda and I would go to eat and suddenly the memory of eggplant casserole came to mind. More a nightmare than a pleasant dream.
I can see it and smell it now, an intrusion from the black recesses of my mind. My mother, known more for being "practical" than for being a good cook had scored a large quantity of eggplant. We had for days been subjected to fried eggplant, fried eggplant and maple syrup, eggplant sandwiches, eggplant ice cream and still we had not exhausted our supply of eggplant. Eggplant cannot be canned or frozen (she'd already tried that), hence the eggplant casserole. I will tell you this, it was just nasty tasting and not even slightly visually appealing. There were copious amounts of casserole left following dinner that night. Not to be deterred chef Catherine placed the leftovers in the refrigerator. Two nights later (thinking we had forgotten) the dish was resurrected only this time disguised by the addition of zucchini slices, cream of mushroom soup, bread crumbs and velveta cheese. Mom further attempted to enhance the deception by taking a large steaming spoonful and with a smile take a large bite, almost instantly the smile vanished and she struggled to choke down the mouthful of food. Her customers unimpressed did not touch their portions. We all packed up and went to some fast food place, Mom leading the retreat. What is it that Obama said, he can put lipstick on and still be a pig..., no wait you can put lipstick on a pig and it is still a pig, yeah that's it.
My mother did teach me a few things about cooking, mainly things not to do. I also learned from her how to dodge a wooden spoon with the speed and agility of a gazelle. Do you know it isn't that bad being hit by a wooden spoon, particularly if you can make a good forearm block which will usually break a wooden spoon. This provides enough time to make an escape from the kitchen with stolen cookies in hand. I also learned that taking a direct hit from a metal spatula is painful, they typically do not break unless your mother is really mad and almost always leave a mark.
I always wondered why most of the good food mothers cook end up at the PTA bake sale, Relief Society dinners, funerals, DUP (Daughters of the Utah Pioneers) meeting or are provided to Sister Rabbit's family each time she has a baby. It may be because in order to make good food you have to have, time, and good ingredients. It could be the belief that if you do not bring good food to one of the above mentioned events then people will talk about the sad fare you contributed. Besides it isn't like the old man or the kids are going to leave home over poor food (they may go to the Maverick and buy a hot dog and a coke). What the heck if the husband or one of the kids leaves for a while there is just less laundry to do. But they like a bad penny always come back don't they.
Flying forks, just ask my brother Jim, it is true, if you throw a plain old metal table fork hard enough it will pierce clothing and penetrate human flesh. Jim experienced this first hand when we were kids and I hucked a fork at him. The fork stuck in his leg as he made a valiant attempt to avoid the speeding fork. I freaked a bit at the sound of his screams and the sight of the fork sticking out of him. Then I thought that was cool. It stuck!
One of my grand mothers scared the living daylights out of me once in the kitchen when I was about 12 years old. She was not a very happy person in the later years of life, and if she had the notion to she would haul off and whack you upside the head with her hand or whatever object was handy. I seemed to be one of her favorite targets, I suspect this was due to the fact that I was an ugly kid and prone to be a smart-aleck. On this occasion I had managed to get grandmother's knickers in a twist while I was in the kitchen making an after school snack, (a jellied eggplant and peanut butter sandwich). I sensed that she was about to strike and with sandwich in hand I began to make a move to get out of her reach, she countered by grabbing the first handy object, a butcher knife. I I dropped the sandwich and nearly evacuated my bowel's on the spot. I managed to get by her and safely out of the kitchen. Looking back on this event I doubt that grandmother would have cut me up too bad, maybe just enough to teach me a lesson, that's all. To this day I am not a big fan of slasher movies, the first time I saw the shower scene in the movie "Psycho" it scared the pee-waddlee out of me.
On this note, kids be nice to grandmother, hide the butcher knives and wooden spoons, and wear proactive eye gear when having a fork fight with your siblings (some one could lose an eye). Have a good week.
I can see it and smell it now, an intrusion from the black recesses of my mind. My mother, known more for being "practical" than for being a good cook had scored a large quantity of eggplant. We had for days been subjected to fried eggplant, fried eggplant and maple syrup, eggplant sandwiches, eggplant ice cream and still we had not exhausted our supply of eggplant. Eggplant cannot be canned or frozen (she'd already tried that), hence the eggplant casserole. I will tell you this, it was just nasty tasting and not even slightly visually appealing. There were copious amounts of casserole left following dinner that night. Not to be deterred chef Catherine placed the leftovers in the refrigerator. Two nights later (thinking we had forgotten) the dish was resurrected only this time disguised by the addition of zucchini slices, cream of mushroom soup, bread crumbs and velveta cheese. Mom further attempted to enhance the deception by taking a large steaming spoonful and with a smile take a large bite, almost instantly the smile vanished and she struggled to choke down the mouthful of food. Her customers unimpressed did not touch their portions. We all packed up and went to some fast food place, Mom leading the retreat. What is it that Obama said, he can put lipstick on and still be a pig..., no wait you can put lipstick on a pig and it is still a pig, yeah that's it.
My mother did teach me a few things about cooking, mainly things not to do. I also learned from her how to dodge a wooden spoon with the speed and agility of a gazelle. Do you know it isn't that bad being hit by a wooden spoon, particularly if you can make a good forearm block which will usually break a wooden spoon. This provides enough time to make an escape from the kitchen with stolen cookies in hand. I also learned that taking a direct hit from a metal spatula is painful, they typically do not break unless your mother is really mad and almost always leave a mark.
I always wondered why most of the good food mothers cook end up at the PTA bake sale, Relief Society dinners, funerals, DUP (Daughters of the Utah Pioneers) meeting or are provided to Sister Rabbit's family each time she has a baby. It may be because in order to make good food you have to have, time, and good ingredients. It could be the belief that if you do not bring good food to one of the above mentioned events then people will talk about the sad fare you contributed. Besides it isn't like the old man or the kids are going to leave home over poor food (they may go to the Maverick and buy a hot dog and a coke). What the heck if the husband or one of the kids leaves for a while there is just less laundry to do. But they like a bad penny always come back don't they.
Flying forks, just ask my brother Jim, it is true, if you throw a plain old metal table fork hard enough it will pierce clothing and penetrate human flesh. Jim experienced this first hand when we were kids and I hucked a fork at him. The fork stuck in his leg as he made a valiant attempt to avoid the speeding fork. I freaked a bit at the sound of his screams and the sight of the fork sticking out of him. Then I thought that was cool. It stuck!
One of my grand mothers scared the living daylights out of me once in the kitchen when I was about 12 years old. She was not a very happy person in the later years of life, and if she had the notion to she would haul off and whack you upside the head with her hand or whatever object was handy. I seemed to be one of her favorite targets, I suspect this was due to the fact that I was an ugly kid and prone to be a smart-aleck. On this occasion I had managed to get grandmother's knickers in a twist while I was in the kitchen making an after school snack, (a jellied eggplant and peanut butter sandwich). I sensed that she was about to strike and with sandwich in hand I began to make a move to get out of her reach, she countered by grabbing the first handy object, a butcher knife. I I dropped the sandwich and nearly evacuated my bowel's on the spot. I managed to get by her and safely out of the kitchen. Looking back on this event I doubt that grandmother would have cut me up too bad, maybe just enough to teach me a lesson, that's all. To this day I am not a big fan of slasher movies, the first time I saw the shower scene in the movie "Psycho" it scared the pee-waddlee out of me.
On this note, kids be nice to grandmother, hide the butcher knives and wooden spoons, and wear proactive eye gear when having a fork fight with your siblings (some one could lose an eye). Have a good week.
1 comment:
Did you know that your mother used to put onions in the blender and puree them and add them to things like spaghetti sauce so you would be eating onions without your knowledge or consent?
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