I had an epiphany this evening. Actually I had a couple. The first was, I can’t cook the simplest things. You know, the things almost anyone can cook? I can’t. I don’t know what is wrong with me. Rice Crispy Treats? Can’t make em. I’ve tried. Several times. I gave up and decided store-bought were fine.
But seriously, who can’t make Rice Crispy treats? That would be me.
How about Quiche? Add whatever you want to a few eggs, and you’ve got Quiche, right? Well, not me. I can make one type of Quiche–a green Chile Quiche.
But when I ask for a Quiche recipe I’m told, “Oh, I just throw in this and that–it’s easy.” I’ve tried that too. Disaster. I’ve accepted the fact that my Quiche repertoire consists of Green Chile Quiche. Period.
Tonight it was those Knorr noodle packets. How hard can that be? Boil milk, water and butter, add noodles and simmer until done. I can’t make them turn out. I’ve tried, three times now. They were supposed to be fettucine noodles.
What I made was very similar to paste. You know, the kind kindergarteners use to glue things on to construction paper?
So, naturally, after dinner, my husband made a bowl of cereal, not having been satisfied with the dinner. (Not that I blame him–I threw mine out too). I would like to add that this kind of thing wreaks havoc on the diet. Grazing, at least for me is never good. Then Bugs gets up and asks if he can make some peaches and cream oatmeal. That led to a discussion of the best way to eat oatmeal, which for me does not involve fruit of any kind.
I’ve noticed this about me. Growing up, I was slightly pudgy, and my brother was stick skinny. One day as a teenager, I tried to compare what he ate with what I ate, and was no longer mystified as to why. When he picked fruit, I picked cream or chocolate. And rather than put fruit on my oatmeal, I’d like a heart stopping dollop of butter, topped with either brown sugar, or maple syrup.
My second epiphany of the evening–I haven’t changed since I was a kid. But I did discover while we lived in New Orléans I could temper it with some serious running. Good timing, given that when you live in New Orléans, just walking into any restaurant could conceivably put 10 pounds on you, and put you in danger of raising your cholesterol into the critical zone just by breathing in.
So running turned out to be a good thing. Now I’m considering a marathon. I don’t know if it will happen, but it’s fun to entertain the idea. And my cooking? I’ll just stick with what I know, boring as that is. Maybe someday my kids will forgive me.