Ok before I move onto this post, I have to say that Bug is a walking (well, not exactly) example of cause and effect. You pee - your diaper gets wet. You hit yourself in the face with a toy - it doesn't feel very good. You cram your fingers too far down your throat - you gag. You fall off the couch backwards - it hurts, badly.
His latest one is, Mama whips out the Girls - you get to eat! When this little man sees the buffet line open you would think his eyes were about to pop out. He starts chattering away like they are long lost friends. It's actually kind of disturbing. (Bug, my eyes are up here!) I would like to say that baby's are in fact NOT to old for breastfeeding when the can ask for it, but apparently I'm going to have to convince myself a little more.
Now, onto the post!
My mother did not teach me very much about the finer art cooking. I have my theories about why she didn't take a more active role in cultivating my homemaking talents. But that doesn't change the fact that I came into marriage with only soups and casseroles under my belt. This is not to say that she is not a good cook. She is incredible, something of a magician. She can make amazing meals out of absolutely nothing,. You put her in a kitchen with a chicken leg, two onions, and some honey and she will come back with a three course meal.
I must have picked something up because last night, I pulled a Mom. It is hard to describe what "a Mom" means. It usually involves extreme impatience, forgetfulness, and generally not doing things correctly. Thankfully, she also has a gift of resuscitating and recreating meals that others would deem beyond hope.
Here's my Mom moment. I used to make cookies called oatmeal scotchies and the other day I got a bad craving for them. We had some caramel pieces which I figured could sub in for the required butterscotch chips. I found an appropriate recipe and went at it. They smelled great but when I took the first batch out it was obvious they were not going to bake up well. The edges were totally burnt but the centers were still uncooked. So what do I? Scrape the bad cookies off the sheets (burnt bits and all) and threw them into a baking pan. I crunched them up, mixed the rest of the batter in, and threw it in the oven.
The result? It tasted good, if you didn't break a tooth. The caramel had melted and, well, caramelized, leaving an impenetrable, possibly dangerous texture. It would have made lovely building material. Getting a piece required chiseling a fork through the crust and using the leverage of full body weight to pry it out. I hacked away at over the course of a day until I decided the risk was not worth the taste. So here came my moment of brilliance. I decided to jackhammer the remainer out of the pan (taking care not to crack the glass), grind it up in the blender (cross your fingers that the blades don't break) and make a pie crust. Scraping that stuff out literally made my teeth hurt from the sound. But I think it will work and I am very happy with myself for using the unusable. My mother would be proud...
But here is where any similarities end. Whereas my mother would be rummaging through the cabinets trying to figure out how to make a pie out of crystallized honey and expired yogurt, I bought Jello.
The final irony: I plan on serving said pie this weekend for visitors. My parents...
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