So I got this new cookbook as a wedding gift, and I'm in love. (Um, that reminds me, I haven't written any thank-you notes yet, so um, thanks Wayne and The Stunning Doreen! "I'm right on top of that, Rose!")
Confession: I have cookbooks that I've never used, but read. For Fun. Total loser!
Anyway, the cookbook in question is called "Food Network Favorites, Recipes from Our All-Star Chefs." It sounds pretty intimidating, but don't be fooled! This sucker has pictures and lots of them! Pictures are my favorite parts of cookbooks. If it sounds great, but has no picture, then I likely won't make it.
So, I totally OWNED Paula Deen's Corn Casserole* on Sunday. It was awesome. Husband even ate leftovers, which never happens. His "baby" 14 year old sister even loved it, ate it, stole the recipe. Seriously people.
Which totally explains how I got overconfident and decided I could get down with Rachael Ray's "Quick Peaches and Golden Raisins Cobbler."*
Now, I start getting all fancy, mixing things together, and think I'm awesome. My husband will love me forever because I made him dessert! I am a fabulous wife! I can do this! I can't believe I'm sharing my insane thought process.
It's at this point, ready to go in the oven, that I totally realize that instead of using Jiffy Complete Biscuit mix, I used the only box of Jiffy type mix I had--CORNBREAD! I frantically text my sister; mom doesn't answer the phone. Verdict is: ruined. Or, more accurately:
Me: Think it's ruined?!?!
So, I bake it anyway. It looks like cornbread on top, gooey wet cornmeal in the middle, and awesome peach deliciousness on the bottom. Thought process changes to: Husband made dinner and now I can't even bake! But baking is my one thing I can do! Ugh, I'm a 9 1/2 fingered wife who can't even follow a damn recipe printed in front of my face with a picture!
Then I think. I don't have biscuit mix, but I have a round thingy of crescent rolls in the fridge. I scrape all the cornbread goo off of the 475 degree peach cobbler thing, and toss it in the trash--tasted it, didn't like it, dog didn't like it either. Then I mush the crescent rolls on top, sprinkle cinnamon, sugar, and almonds on that sucker, shove it back in the oven and watch the rest of Glee.
Verdict? I think I totally saved it, but when J gets back, I will see if he notices I did it wrong. Shhhh....our secret!
*No cutting/chopping of any sort was used in the making of these recipes. (Per my current kitchen restrictions) :)
UPDATE: Husband response? "This is absolutely delicious!" YAY! :)
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
So. I have been married to J for twenty-three days. In that time, I have gotten food poisoning, pulled a muscle, and chopped part of a finger off. Wife FAIL! Instead of inundating my facebook friends with countless FAIL updates, I decided to start a blog to chronicle this insanity.
Let's skip to the finger, because that has definitely been the funnest!*
Last Monday I went back to work following my honeymoon/food poisoning/pulled muscle vacation. First day back, and I was feeling domestic and wifey, couldn't wait to run home and make dinner for my new husband--stop the eye rolling! It's true! Got home and he'd already started dinner--"are tacos okay?" so I start chopping an onion with my brand-new, never used Santuko knife. That sucker was badass, slid through the onion like buttah! I'm blah blah blah-ing about my day,co-workers, dinner, etc. I get a work call, chat for a few, and go back to chopping. J says, "Can you chop that cilantro a little finer?"
Sure, husband. Chop chop chop, chat chat chat, "Oh shit, that's a PIECE of my FINGER on the cutting board!" J doesn't think I'm serious, as I'm reaching for paper towels, grabbing my hand, and pressing down for dear life. I yell at him to throw on shoes and start running out the door, because we need to get to the hospital NOW!
My across-the-street neighbor, who has never spoken to me, is on his porch smoking. He offers up, "Cut yourself?" as he sees us running out the door with my hand wrapped in a roll of Bounty. The quicker picker upper! "Yep!" I yell. JC gets in the car and tells me to get in. I'm all, "WTF, how am I gonna open the door with one chopped hand and the other clearly occupied, holding together what is left." He jumps out and opens my door. Neighbor hollers out, "Good thing the hospital is right up the street!" Jackass, nice to meet you too!
Get to the hospital, wait for hours, result is this: no stitches because there's nothing they can stitch. I've permanently lost a chunk of my right index finger, which is now black, because they had to cauterize (burn the hell out of) my finger to stop the bleeding.
Spend the next week in a Vicodin/sleep/facebook stalking haze. Hey, what else could I do? So little did J know, with less than one month of marriage under our belts, I would permanently slightly resemble that freakish-hand guy from Scary Movie!
Hey, in sickness and in health, right? :) Welcome to marriage!
*sarcasm, but it definitely has the best story.