This one’s for you, Jenny A.
I married a great cook. But he gets home from the office too late to feed the rest of us in a timely fashion. So, it falls to me. Trust me, if it were safe or acceptable to employ my kids as cooks at ages 3 and 7, I would. The results would surely be better. Or at least more consistent.
The trouble with being me is this: I can cook a few things well on the first try. And I can repeat the exact same recipe in the exact same manner on a subsequent attempt, and viola—it’s a complete and total failure. The death knell for any recipe in my house is for my husband to taste it and declare it “delicious.” Cue the lower major chords of an organ.
If we could survive on baked goods, I might have an out. My challah is yummy (the recipe is my friend Shani’s and she bakes at sea level, and with more talent, so hers is, for sure, better). If my family liked soup as much as I do–or even a little—we’d do okay. But these three men are not really soup guys. Unless you count my three year old’s preference for “Princess Soup,” (aka Disney Princess Soup from Campbell’s) and his seven year-old brother’s passion for the chicken noodle soup at Deer Valley Resort. But still, they can’t be convinced to eat chicken noodle soup (I’m not bad at that, by the way) or even my rockin’ butternut squash, or one of my fave Zero-Points Vegetable Soup recipes from Weight Watchers, more than once every few weeks.
So, I’ll share my few successes here, and laugh with you at my colossal failures. Bon Appetit!