For as long as I can remember, I've had a very serious problem. I can't cook for company. When I was a PK, we hosted missionaries and guest ministers in our home and it was always A BIG DEAL. Mom would generally make some really freaking delicious meals and I, being the only girl and therefore the only one not covered in dirt 99 percent of the time (only like 65 percent), "helped".
Unfortunately, and I don't know if it was due to nerves or just my general leaning toward scatter-brained behavior, whatever I made failed miserably. I made every rookie cooking mistake in the history of mankind. Salt instead of sugar, tablespoons instead of teaspoons, under cooking, overcooking, setting off the smoke alarm (more than once) ... you name it, I did it.
I was soon relegated to head salad maker . And I even messed that up, too.
Oh no, I didn't slice my hand open and bleed on your cucumber slices. That's just salad dressing! <<< this didn't actually happen, but only because we had the dullest knives in the history of knife-dom.
If Indiana Jones had to choose between a pit full of snakes and eating my cooking, he'd pick snakes.
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Nah, I'm good. You guys go ahead with that ... salad. |