Another Dirty Secret....
This one is a BIGGIE.
I love Ace of Cakes. Just adore it. Duff is hilarious and Geoff is just hot. (This last part has traumatized my youngest daughter.... "MOM! That's so gross!")
It's cake.
Part of it's appeal is just the chemistry of all the folks-- and I love Baltimore. I love the Inner Harbor and the Aquarium and Fort McHenry.
And it's CAKE.
I'm a sap for anything historical.
Did I mention it's cake?
What's not to love?
Showing posts with label Dirty Secrets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dirty Secrets. Show all posts
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Another Dirty Secret....
I can't make a decent meatloaf. Nope, I can't. I've tried a million different recipes. I think it comes down to this--- I don't like meatloaf, never have. Logic, eh?
Problem is--- I don't like mashed potatoes either, but I can make some mean taters. My husband loves meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Bully for him.
I am terribly complicated.
I had been married just a little while when I decided to tackle Veal Parmigiana. Who need s a recipe for that? It's a breaded veal patty, spaghetti sauce, and cheese. How hard can that be?
I pulled my little masterpieces out of the oven and immediately struck by their appearance. The were flat..... and brown. Not very appetizing, but I figured if he ate my meatloaf, this would be a treat!
I do need to apologize in advance to any buffalo, buffalo owners, or just folks who like buffalo. These flat brown discs looked just like buffalo chips. Actually, they would need a face lift to look as good as buffalo chips. It must have been because they were brown and steamy.
To back up for a moment, I must expound on my dishes. As a young innocent (read as STOOPID) bride, I happily purchased a set of snow white Correle Ware, four place settings. I say happily, as it may have been my first purchase where I used some common sense. They were white-- and matched everything! They were unbreakable and would outlive me! I could bequeath them to my children. I was using my noggin! It was a new and heady feeling.
I lovingly displayed my piles of.... er-- my veal masterpiece on my snow white unbreakable dishes, and covered both plates with pot lids so as to keep them piping hot for my beloved. I innocently called him to dinner. (enter blue birds untying my apron strings)
I explained the dish to him and he cocked his eyebrow at me (in a disbelieving sneer, now that I've learned what the look really means) and removed his lid. I did as well.
He says, "I'm not eating this."
I say, "Yes, you are." (I don't say this anymore)
He says, "No, I'm not eating this", and pushes it away.
I say, "OH Yes, you are." (another one deleted from my vocab) I push it back.
He says, "I'M NOT EATING THIS %&$*." Push away. Again.
I say, "OH YES YOU ARE!!!!" (a quick learner I am not)
He picks up one of the pot lids, and in a lovely tennis overhand arc, smashes it down. On my plate. AND BREAKS MY UNBREAKABLE PLATE!!!! Shatters it. And shattered my psyche in a thousand shards.
This was too much for my feeble brain to handle. I leaped to my feet and grabbed my chair. In my best lion tamer moves, I screeched, "$&#^$*% *$#$*% &$%*&#", don't ask me to translate. It wasn't my prettiest moment.
At this point, my brain shorted out. I threw the chair at him. This becomes a theme for the first 10, okay maybe 15, years of my marriage.
My chair shatters.
I have never attempted Veal Parmigiana since.
Lesson learned.
I can't make a decent meatloaf. Nope, I can't. I've tried a million different recipes. I think it comes down to this--- I don't like meatloaf, never have. Logic, eh?
Problem is--- I don't like mashed potatoes either, but I can make some mean taters. My husband loves meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Bully for him.
I am terribly complicated.
I had been married just a little while when I decided to tackle Veal Parmigiana. Who need s a recipe for that? It's a breaded veal patty, spaghetti sauce, and cheese. How hard can that be?
I pulled my little masterpieces out of the oven and immediately struck by their appearance. The were flat..... and brown. Not very appetizing, but I figured if he ate my meatloaf, this would be a treat!
I do need to apologize in advance to any buffalo, buffalo owners, or just folks who like buffalo. These flat brown discs looked just like buffalo chips. Actually, they would need a face lift to look as good as buffalo chips. It must have been because they were brown and steamy.
To back up for a moment, I must expound on my dishes. As a young innocent (read as STOOPID) bride, I happily purchased a set of snow white Correle Ware, four place settings. I say happily, as it may have been my first purchase where I used some common sense. They were white-- and matched everything! They were unbreakable and would outlive me! I could bequeath them to my children. I was using my noggin! It was a new and heady feeling.
I lovingly displayed my piles of.... er-- my veal masterpiece on my snow white unbreakable dishes, and covered both plates with pot lids so as to keep them piping hot for my beloved. I innocently called him to dinner. (enter blue birds untying my apron strings)
I explained the dish to him and he cocked his eyebrow at me (in a disbelieving sneer, now that I've learned what the look really means) and removed his lid. I did as well.
He says, "I'm not eating this."
I say, "Yes, you are." (I don't say this anymore)
He says, "No, I'm not eating this", and pushes it away.
I say, "OH Yes, you are." (another one deleted from my vocab) I push it back.
He says, "I'M NOT EATING THIS %&$*." Push away. Again.
I say, "OH YES YOU ARE!!!!" (a quick learner I am not)
He picks up one of the pot lids, and in a lovely tennis overhand arc, smashes it down. On my plate. AND BREAKS MY UNBREAKABLE PLATE!!!! Shatters it. And shattered my psyche in a thousand shards.
This was too much for my feeble brain to handle. I leaped to my feet and grabbed my chair. In my best lion tamer moves, I screeched, "$&#^$*% *$#$*% &$%*&#", don't ask me to translate. It wasn't my prettiest moment.
At this point, my brain shorted out. I threw the chair at him. This becomes a theme for the first 10, okay maybe 15, years of my marriage.
My chair shatters.
I have never attempted Veal Parmigiana since.
Lesson learned.
Okay, I admit it. I am a Kitchen Gadget Freak. I can't pass the gadget aisle in any store. I gaze at egg slicers and spatulas the way most women covet a Vera Wang gown. If I got a box o' gadgets for Christmas, I'd be in gadget heaven. Now you know my dirty secret.
Worse than having a kitchen full of these critters, I cannot keep them hidden. They are ART, for goodness sake! I must display them! My drawers are empty and my counters are full. Logic says that if I don't see it, I won't use it. I must obey logic, right? I thought so too-- at least we agree :-)
Worse than having a kitchen full of these critters, I cannot keep them hidden. They are ART, for goodness sake! I must display them! My drawers are empty and my counters are full. Logic says that if I don't see it, I won't use it. I must obey logic, right? I thought so too-- at least we agree :-)
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