Cooking

Gentle Readers,

Generally, with the cooking, me not so much. Can I prepare meals? Yes, if I have a recipe. But that's reading not cooking. Cooking is tasting something and saying "Hmmm, I think this dish needs more Jamaican allspice." and having that be just what's missing.


So, we've established WYM cannot cook. However, yesterday morning, with the troops not feeling well, I stepped up and made scrambled eggs, biscuits and bacon. Scrambled eggs, no real biggie. Bacon was microwave variety. Biscuits sponsored by Bisquick, however, I added the requisite milk and mix in a bowl and stirred it up. Then I tried to roll it out to make that perfectly round Hungry Jack biscuits. That worked not. So, drop biscuits it was. Daughter ate everything on her plate. I was proud.


Then, an hour or so later, she comes up to me and says "Mutti? Please I have nutter blakit." I couldn't figure out what she was asking me. "What do you want, honey?" "What you made for us?" A BISCUIT! Better yet, another one of MY biscuits. That was cool. I couldn't be more proud.



Random item on which to muse: What's in a name? Well, Bill, may I call you Bill? Sorry, Mr. Shakespeare, sir. If you're Oprah, everything. All you have to say to swing doors wide for you is, "I'm Oprah's (insert job title here)." On the back of my cereal box the other morning was the shining face of Oprah's personal trainer. Didn't you use to have to play a professional sport or have won an Olympic medal to wind up on a cereal box?