Today’s post has one token photo, and it has nothing to do with my normal topics. It is just me, expressing myself. Next week I’ll get back to business.
Trail Guy is the dinner cook around here—BBQ meat, giant salad. Simple, plain, really good. I fix dinner about once a week, normally just something I call Slop in a Skillet, recognizable plain food, mostly vegetables and meat, no recipe, no muss, no fuss.
Last week I decided to try a recipe called Husband’s Delight from an online acquaintance. It used ingredients that I am familiar with and seemed fairly straightforward. (Sometimes I am just adventuresome like that.)
I tried to follow the recipe, but WHY did it require a tablespoon of sugar? Nope, not this little gray duck. I didn’t have the right noodles, so I used a variety of whole wheat pasta shapes that are in my pantry, mostly going to waste because we are being careful to not become diabetic, and apparently carbohydrates are The Enemy. (All those lies about eating whole wheat pasta. . . who knows what “healthy” means anymore??)
I didn’t eat or cook ground beef for a couple of decades, so I was slightly revolted by the process. It was frozen in a tube that was hard to open and it bled on the counter. Ick.
Onions are also something I rarely use. I don’t like how they smell raw or during cooking or how sometimes they make my eyes water. I hacked off the amount called for, more or less, and put the rest in a ziplock bag in the freezer. I wonder if it will be useless later? Probably should have chopped it first, but I wanted to finish up.
And why did the recipe call a mix of sour cream and cream cheese “cheese sauce”? Nope, it was gloppy and got layered as plops, not sauce.
What happened to the grated mozzarella on the top?? It vanished into the 9×13” pan of “layers” once the thing was baked.
What an enormous output of energy! It took a long time, fumbling around with packages of this and that, oops, need another bowl, another pan, grab the colander, where is the grater, my hands are a mess, wash them for the umpteenth time, open another package of something—where are the scissors, nope, my hands are a mess again.
The thing about casseroles that seems so wasteful is that they have to be cooked in various steps on top of the stove and then baked in the oven. No wonder all those ‘50s housewives were on Valium.
Finally got the concoction in the oven and realized there were no vegetables for dinner. I was fed up with all that prep, so instead of making a salad, I chopped up a few fresh veggies and called it good.
So Trail Guy, AKA The Husband, was pleased with the casserole. I told him to be sure to thoroughly enjoy Husband’s Delight, because I am never making it again. I would have been a terrible housewife in the ‘50s. Probably would have taken up smoking.
If you made it to the end, here is a painting for you of a red pepper. Seems appropriate.
8 Comments
I love casseroles! lol! I don’t make them often because they’re usually pretty full of fat. Nice effort on your part, though. ???
I dunno, Gnat, if fat is bad. I’m beginning to reverse my thinking on this. You have much better housewifery skills than I, and that’s an indisputable fact.
I love this post! Your description of the whole process, hilarious. Sounds so much like me trying a new recipe (or desperately trying to wing dinner with little planning). Thanks for the laughs.
ckarmom, thank you for saying that! I did a lot of grousing to myself while I worked on that project, all while trying to maintain my sense of humor as I reminded myself that I CHOSE to try the recipe. So happy to have provided a bit of levity!
Whenever I see a recipe calling for more than 10 ingredients, I think, “Nope, not happening!” Bonus points if it includes obscure spices I don’t have. This means I will buy and use 1 tsp of whatever, and the rest of the jar will languish in the cupboard until down the road I notice that the expiration date shows “12/2/2022.”
BBQ and a big salad sounds like the ideal dinner to me!
Sharon, I am curious how many people still make casseroles. Other than enchiladas or lasagne, forget it. I have simplified the process for both of those, and rarely bother because I am married to The Best Dinner Cook.
I have antique spices, and unless and until they either smell like dust or like nothing, they can just sit in the cupboard. Maybe the containers will become collectible items to sell on eBay.
I laughed out loud while reading this! My childhood experienced such meals. One we had was called affectionately Portuguese Slop because the recipe was from a dear Portuguese friend. It was my brother’s favorite! My mom also smoked and took Valium. Haha!
Nancy, thank you for sharing that—I’m glad it made you laugh. Your mom sounds like the classic ‘50s housewife, and I picture her with an apron and heels in the kitchen. What in the world was in Portuguese Slop?? I’m almost afraid to find out!