this is sugar
After much deliberation about whose tale of culinary woe was more horrifying we’ve finally decided on… Continue »
this is sugar
this is salt
Mixing up salt and sugar has been a theme in our Apron Strings contest. This is our last entry as the contest closes today. Thanks for all the submissions. The big winner will be announced tomorrow.Good work, Andrea for getting this one in just under the wire.
My Australian grandmother was known to be an excellent cook and baker. One of her most frequently baked recipes was for that classic Australian dessert, lamingtons. Lamingtons are squares of sponge cake coated in chocolate icing and coconut.
On one particular occasion, Nan realized that she had accidentally used salt instead of the cup or so of sugar the recipe called for. A standard kitchen error, to be sure, but mortifying enough for this proud baker.
So Nan crumbled up the entire batch of lamington cake and scattered it around the hen house for the chickens to eat. Nothing wasted, of course.
Not long after, my grandpa made a chilling discovery. The entire brood of chickens had been wiped out by Nan’s bad baking. They were found lying on their backs with their legs straight up in the air. It was death by over-salted dessert.
Carolyn was kind enough to send along her twisted tale of baking pretzels. If you haven’t shared your story about the worst family cooking experience EVER, it’s not too late. Share your pain, embarrass your family and friends and win a gift certificate to Fiesta. Now that’s a win-win-win.
Okay, I need to admit right up front that I was not the most patient of children, and then as far as I was concerned, I could do anything an adult could — sometimes even better.
I have distinct memories of learning to cook, working alongside my mom, helping her follow the recipes in her favourite cookbooks. I remember the first time I made dinner by myself when I put in 5 cloves of garlic before anybody told me that one clove was one section and not one bulb, I remember stuffing cheese into meatballs in attempt to outdo my mom’s spaghetti and meatballs, and I remember the first time I tried baking alone.
I wasn’t supposed to be baking alone. My mom and I had planned to try a pretzel recipe out of my favourite kids cookbook. But she was busy outside chatting with the neighbours, and as I mentioned, I was that unfortunate combination of over-confident and impatient. By the time she came inside, I had followed through the recipe and had the pretzels ready for the oven. My mom helped me apply the eggwash, and I waited eagerly while they baked to a beautiful brown. When they came out, my mom sprinkled them with salt and we waited for them to be cool enough to eat.
Finally, I took my first bite. And instead of joy and pride I felt confusion. This is definitely not what pretzels were supposed to taste like. My mom took a bite and made that face that moms make when they’re trying to pretend you’ve done a wonderful job when you both know you haven’t. Then my older brother came running through the kitchen, grabbing a pretzel and just as quickly spitting it into the sink. Without hesitation he declared my pretzels ‘gross’. I burst into tears, and my mom read through the recipe looking for what went wrong. It didn’t take her long to figure it out.
“How much salt did you add,” she asked. “Just what the recipe said,” I wailed. With a little more prodding, she figured out the error of my ways. I have never been good at reading a recipe through before cooking it, and my first foray into baking was no exception. The recipe called for 1/4 of salt, 1 tsp for the dough and the rest to sprinkled over top. I missed the part about dividing the salt and put the whole 1/4 cup into the dough, resulting in pretzels that were an inedible mess.
It was my first baking disaster, but it certainly wasn’t my last. While I can cook savoury dishes that consistently wow the crowd, the need for patience and precision in baking has always eluded me.
Nora revealed her mother’s master plan in this short & sweet parable for our Apron Strings contest. Share your pain for a chance to win.
As my mother began to experience “the changes” older women do, her food choices (and combinations) became increasingly well, difficult to swallow. After she served a warm salad of pickled herring, olives, boiled egg, blue cheese and mayonnaise, we all learned to cook a little for ourselves a little more often.
Maybe that was her plan all along?
This doozy of a tale was sent to us by Sarah who is hoping her grandfather’s foibles help her win the big contest prize of a Fiesta Farms gift certificate. Have a great tale to tell of a family meal gone bad? Share your pain for a chance to win our Apron Strings contest. Contest ends on Father’s Day.
My grandfather never learned to cook. My grandmother made his every meal or snack. She would leave to go on these outrageous trips to Africa or China with her girlfriends in the 70s and 80s. She would leave for two or three weeks at atooke but before she left she would prepare enough food for my grandfather to eat while she was gone. These meals would be packaged into tupperware to be defrosted as needed.
During one of these vacays my father stopped by the house to hang out with my grandfather. Being the good host he knew how to be, my grandfather offered to “make” lunch. “spaghetti and meatballs?” he offered. They sat in The living room waiting for their food to finish “cooking”. My father soon smelled burning. He ran to the kitchen to find a Tupperware full of spagetti in the oven at 350•. Epic lunch fail. The end.
