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Friday, May 9, 2008

Brownie Blunder

I am a smart person. I have not always believe that, and it took The Man and our therapist a VERY long time to convince me that there is a shred of truth to this, and sometimes I still don’t believe it. Especially when I cook.

Cooking does not come naturally to me. I have learned to appreciate it, but some days I do not enjoy it. Cooking does not make me feel smart. Because I don’t care for it that much, I don’t take care in doing it properly. I don’t check to make sure I have all of the ingredients before I start, I don’t read all of the instructions when I am cooking. This makes for food that does not taste very good. In fact, it tastes terrible.

The Man finds this endearing. I find it to be stupid. And I still do it. Maybe that’s called crazy. Isn’t there a saying that crazy means doing the same things over and over again and expecting a different result? Yup, that’s me. So I’m crazy, not stupid.

One example of a cooking blunder:

The Man and I were newlyweds, it was a lovely spring morning, and I decided it would be delightful if I made some brownies for my new husband. I pulled out a cookbook and found a brownie recipe and started making my special brownies (that makes them sound like they had pot in them but I assure you they did not), filled with love (do you hear the music amplifying, the birds twittering? Ahhhhh.). Two eggs, the recipe calls for. I open the refrigerator and pull out the last two eggs. I crack the first egg and the white and yolk I expect to see oozing out are non-existent. No, this is a hard boiled egg. Bummer. Can’t make brownies without eggs. What do I do? Search on the trusty internet. Yes I did. What did my internet findings suggest? Go ahead, use the hard boiled eggs. Just mash them up very finely and add more water. Cool! I proceeded, adding the water my friend, the internet, suggested. I mixed up the batter, which looked like brownies. I poured them in a pan, popped them in the oven and about fifty minutes later I pulled them out. I impatiently waited for them to cool. After cutting them, I served a man sized piece to my husband, who was blissfully unaware of my oversight. He smiles adoringly at me as he takes his first unsuspecting bite. His face quickly turns from a smile to a frown and he spits out the brownies in disgust. What could be wrong with them, I frantically wondered. After all, they looked like brownies. They smelled like brownies. I go into the kitchen and pick up a piece to taste for myself. They even felt like brownies all warm and moist. I took a bite.

They tasted like hard boiled eggs.

That is a nasty surprise when you are expecting creamy, chocolaty goodness.

And there is a good lesson that what you find on the internet is not always true.

It also may have been the first example The Man saw of what it meant to love someone “for worse” and “in sickness.”

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