I've Made a Discovery...

You might as well know that if you're visiting here for some word of encouragement today or depth of insight, move on. I know what it's like out there in blogland - barely enough time to read all the posts you want to read...so come back another day if you want value for your time.

Right now I'm looking for some commiseration. I made a discovery today. My twin sister got all the cooking genes!

OK...I've been upfront about my lack of kitchen skill. It's been no secret. I haven't ever tried to impress anyone with my culinary ability. I admit to opening mixes instead of starting from scratch. I'm not embarrassed by my freezer full of "M&M" boxes (no, not the candy...the frozen food!). My name is not Betty Crocker or Sarah Lee. Nor am I Rachael Ray or Martha Stewart. I'd be happy just to be Pillsbury Dough, but even that's a stretch.

What prompted these feelings of inadequacy today?



Doesn't that look appetizing? That's SUPPOSE to be a homemade loaf of bread! Look at it! It's got more craters than the moon and is bumpier than most roads here in Ontario - and that's saying something! My husband thought it WAS a 'blog'

How did this happen? I followed the recipe perfectly. I even watched the video demonstration that came with the breadmaker. I measured meticulously. All you do is throw the ingredients in and the breadmaker is suppose to do the rest. It let me down big time!

Normally, I wouldn't have cared. I mean, this isn't the first time something I've tried to bake in the kitchen hasn't turned out - it's a daily occurance - but, for some reason, I was so disappointed tonight. I had tried really hard to go the extra mile and do something special, and my "special" ended up in the garbage!

I've tried to better myself. I took a night school course a couple of years ago with a girlfriend. It said it was for beginner's in the kitchen. The course outline sounded perfect. The first night we made a dish I couldn't pronounce with utensils I had never seen. The second class only 3 students returned. That alone should have spoken volumes right then, but it only made me feel sorry for the instructor. So, beside the fact that this chef was speaking a foreign language to me, I decided to stick it out and see what I could learn. I was paying big bucks because I didn't want to hurt this guys feelings. He was a really nice guy. He was the head cook at a fancy smancy hotel in Toronto and he would share stories of cooking for celebrities that came into town. I've always remembered how kindly he spoke of John Travolta. Anyway, unless your family eats mutton weekly or finishes each meal with crème brûlée, this really didn't seem to be a "beginner's" cooking class to me.

You know, it wouldn't be so bad trying new recipes and making a mess in the kitchen if I actually had the enjoyment of some home-made delectables, but I'm only tantalizing my tastebuds. Nothing ever turns out like the photograph in the recipe book and most attempts need to be accompanied by a quick glass of water to wash down each valiant effort.

It doesn't help having a sister with the midas touch. She not only can make anything taste good, but she does it with the ease of June Cleaver. Meanwhile, I'm more like Lucille Ball.

So, tonight I surrender my apron. Not only did the bread fail miserably, but the crock-pot recipe I tried was dry and as I went to bring the butter dish to the table it slipped from many hands and my floor was now greased better than my baking pans. Anybody want to invite me for dinner tomorrow night? I could bring the bread! :o)