Happy Thanksgiving!

As the weather gets colder, I've been compelled to start cooking again, with mostly disappointing results. Today is no exception. I was invited to Thanksgiving dinner at a friend's house, and she had the idea that I should try to bake a cake. I tried to bake two cakes and ended up with half of one. How did I accomplish this confusing feat?

Well, half of one of the cakes ended up stuck to the tinfoil. I was trying to recreate a previous failure, the slow-cooker chocolate cake in The Italian Slow Cooker. Except this time, I searched around on the Internet and found that other people were making a similar cake in the oven. So, I took the sour-cream chocolate-chip cake, the one I am too embarrassed to photograph, out of the oven.

The instructions said to line a springform pan with buttered foil. More importantly, the instructions said to butter the BOTTOM of the pan with buttered foil. But my son was up last night from three to five a.m. because of a scary dream about a monster, and I forgot this important detail about the foil. I put the foil up the sides of the pan and poured in the batter.

Suddenly, I panicked. Would my cake be tremendously misshapen and unattractive? I hurriedly poured the batter back out into a bowl. I lost at least a quarter of it in the process. I washed off the foil as best I could (I ran out of foil and didn't have any more, and I imagine all the stores are closed today), and poured in what was left of the batter. I stuck the whole mess in the oven.

I think my oven doesn't work very well. I always have to double the cooking time. It took an hour to bake the cake instead of 25 minutes. At the end of baking, I cooled the cake down for five minutes as instructed.

I was then supposed to invert the cake. It was then that I lost another quarter of it.

The cake, which had risen somewhat in the oven, sank again dejectedly.

And this, my friends, is how two cakes became one-half of one cake. I am pretty sure I will be attending Thanksgiving dinner empty-handed. But this is probably to the benefit of my hosts.

No-Eat Bread

I'm sure you've heard of No-Knead Bread. This revolutionary new baking method was the brainchild New York Times, and I proceeded to fail miserably at it. I don't know if you can tell from this picture, but my attempt at bread ended up the size of a small salad plate. The crust was the texture of cement, while the crumb was the texture of warm, sweaty Play-Doh.

Eat me, I dare you.

of Jim Lahey of Sullivan Street Bakery. Mark Bittman updated the method for the

What went wrong? Well, firstly, I have a tendency to have two different tabs open on my browser at the same time. This was the case when I was trying to bake the bread; I had the above-linked recipe open as well as this one. (Is the second recipe even No-Knead Bread? I don't think so.)

The second recipe specified that I must fold the dough. Unfortunately, I don't know what that is, or how to do that. Belatedly, I perused some Chow.com threads...

Anyway, the third problem was that I was trying out another soon-to-be-ill-fated slow cooker recipe. I accidentally placed utensils and a small cookbook over the "rising" dough. Realizing that this was probably a big no-no, I attempted to rise the bread again.

The final fiasco happened inside the oven. The recipe (or some recipe, because at this point I had forgotten which recipe or message board I was supposed to be reading), directed me to cover the  bread inside the oven for the first half-hour in order to promote rising. The final half-hour, I was supposed to uncover the bread to then promote browning. You guessed it... I transposed the directions, uncovering for the first half-hour and then covering for the last half-hour.

The results are above!

Slow Cooker Disaster #109

In case you were wondering, it turns out that you can't just leave ingredients in a slow cooker

indefinitely. Look at what happened to my rice pudding when I left it in just an hour too long...

If you happen to know anyone who is in the process of building a house, I have a couple of cement blocks to donate.

You Say Tomato, I Say Let's Go Out to Eat Instead

So, I had grand plans for dinner tonight. I was going to make the Tomato Ricotta Frittata from The Italian Slow Cooker. The recipe simply called for chopped basil, grape tomatoes, ricotta, grated parmesan, and eggs to be mixed together and dumped into the crock pot. Simple, right? No. Nothing is ever simple in the kitchen of Cooking Whoops.

I'll spare you a description of my woeful basil-chopping, cheese-grating (I HATE grating cheese), and tomato-halving skills. Let's just say I successfully transferred the mixture into my Cuisinart Multi-Cooker. The frittata was supposed to cook for 60 to 75 minutes on High. For some reason, it still looked like liquid eggs after an hour.

At this point, I received a text inquiring whether my family would like to go out for Indian food. Food is always better in good company (and always better when it's not at my house), so our consensus was that we should indeed go out to dinner with our friend.

This turned out to be the best decision we could have made. When we got home, I unplugged the slow cooker and started emptying out the contents onto a plate. I'd worked so hard on that cup of grated parmesan and was wondering about the results.

I took one bite of the frittata and cringed. Not only was the basil unappetizingly black (I guess I left this thing in the slow cooker for too long, but isn't that the point?) but the frittata had an overwhelmingly acrid flavor. Upon closer inspection, this horrible sourness seemed to be coming from the halved grape tomatoes. I decided to try one of the raw ones, and indeed, they were the culprit. Moral of the story: always taste the raw tomatoes before deciding to use them. Or, just go out for Indian food.

How Not to Use the Slow Cooker

This is not some kind of bizarre bouquet; it is actually a handful of hard-as-a-rock pasta. I thought I simplest tomato sauce."

might try to avoid dirtying another pot by emptying a pound of uncooked penne into the slow cooker after making Marcella Hazan's three-ingredient "

A previous attempt at pasta fagioli with elbow macaroni had been moderately successful, so I thought the trick might work again. I wish I had read this thread, which explains why uncooked pasta is not the best food to dump into the slow cooker.

There is a very famous book called Modernist Cuisine, which was reviewed in the New York Times about a year ago. The book talks about all of the scientific processes involved in creating "molecular gastronomic" food (the term has since fallen out of favor). Do you think a scientist could work with me on a volume about all of my disasters?

Even the Candle Broke...

Today is my poor husband's birthday. I know he was wondering why I was so preoccupied; I was frantically running around trying to create this disaster without him noticing my efforts. My technique? I started out with a flourless chocolate cake recipe from Italian Slow Cooker. (I forgot to post that I recently purchased a slow cooker, which I hoped would alleviate some of my more egregious cooking errors.) The recipe called for bittersweet chocolate, sugar, coffee, eggs, and butter.

I should mention that my disposable aluminum cake pan was too wide for the oval slow cooker, so I had to kind of smoosh it into the cooker insert. I set the cooker on HIGH, and waited for the results with bated breath.

After over an hour of baking, the cake showed no indication of progressing beyond a liquid consistency. So, I stuck the cake in the oven. A knife never came out clean, although I read that this might be a common occurrence with flourless chocolate cakes. I simply had no idea when I should take the cake out. One baking blog said that this kind of cake should not stay in the oven for more than 35 minutes. Panicking, I took the cake out.

Drama: the moment of unmolding was at hand. This step, I should've skipped. I turned the cake out onto the plate, and a big chunk of the middle immediately stuck to the pan. Whatever aesthetic potential this unfortunate cake may have had was greatly reduced.

The final step of the recipe was a dusting of cocoa - not having the right sort of gadget, I emptied a teaspoon of cocoa over a strainer that I drain spaghetti through. Unevenly, I tried to camouflage the valley in the middle of the cake.

(By the way, the cake was originally round, I swear. The uneven right edge is due to the fact that my husband - inexplicably - tasted the cake.)

The Worst Apple Crisp in the World

I can't figure out exactly why this is so stomach-turning. Maybe it's because I melted the butter in the microwave after reheating leftover salmon. Or maybe it's simply because once again, I had a bad idea and did a Google search to help me carry it out. In this case, I had a small portion of homemade applesauce (it was decent, if rather too lemony; I don't think it needed so much lemon juice). I was craving apple crisp, and wondered if I might not use the applesauce in the pursuit of this craving. One obvious problem is that I did not have much applesauce.

I came across a reprehensible recipe for a "quick" applesauce crisp using Bisquick, but I had none of that substance in the apartment (and probably hadn't since birth). I then found a traditional Betty Crocker recipe that used sliced apples. Since I had barely any applesauce, I halved the ingredients for the topping. After melting the butter, I had a thick dough with the texture of cement. Half-heartedly, I applied this "topping" to the scant applesauce mixture.

Not only does this "crisp" have an unappetizing look and flavor, it just tastes like... well, salmon in a lemon-butter sauce with a soggy crust and a touch of cinnamon. Someone needs to put my kitchen out of its misery.

Reflecting Pool as Dessert

I hope you had a good hair day today, because you can see your reflection in tonight's Dessert Whoops. It was supposed to be a blueberry crumble. It is, instead, a blueberry juice crumble. I don't know exactly what happened, as I followed the recipe. I added the cornstarch that was supposed to make this blueberry juice into blueberry goo. Did I not mix it in well enough?

"It's um, a little loose," was the charitable feedback from the unfortunate guest to whom I served this unjust dessert. Maybe I can make blueberry wine out of the leftovers?

Cooking Dangerously

When reading a recipe, it's crucial to pay attention to the details. This is essential for measuring out the amount of each ingredient. If one does not do this, specifically in the case of hot chilies, the results may prove fatal. (My poor husband; he's still breathing.)

Tonight, I thought I'd try this tofu and asparagus recipe. The recipe called for a teaspoon of Kame hot chili sauce. Maybe I wasn't as focused as I should have been the task at hand; I think I caught my 14-month-old son's cold. My bank has inexplicably put a hold on my entire checking account, and apparently some neighbors just sent a complaint to building management about my son's crying during the night. (The manager advised me to put my son to bed later, buy a rocking chair for his room, and make sure to go in at the first peep I heard. Weissbluth would roll over in his grave if he were dead.) So, somehow a tablespoon of chili sauce ended up in the bowl pictured above. (Note the inexpertly minced ginger.) I was all set to pour this deadly brew into the pan of unevenly pan-fried tofu (blame that on a too-small skillet), when I decided to taste the sauce. I momentarily turned into a fire-breathing dragon.

I realized that this dinner was in danger of becoming either compost or a life-threatening meal for the

dog that lives across the hall, so I considered my options. I could throw out the sauce, as the tofu and asparagus were still intact, or I could try to salvage it; a less expensive option. So, I tripled the amount of soy sauce and rice vinegar.


It might be difficult to see this in the photo, but the unfortunate, unforeseen result of this strategy was to plunge the tofu into several inches of excess liquid. Panicking, I turned up the heat - maybe I would create some kind of newfangled "reduction." I just boiled everything in the pan until the amount of liquid diminished somewhat.

Oh well. All's well that ends well.

Vomelette

What makes this whoops particularly embarrassing is that I once hired a professional food stylist/chef to come over and show me how to make an omelette. We looked at a Martha Stewart cookbook and found the "shake, scramble and roll" technique. Now the only thing shaking is my stomach as I prepare to eat this. I think what happened is, I added too much half-and-half, which made the whole thing into a very unappetizing, liquidy pale yellow mass (or mess). It became impossible for me to manipulate this thing with a spatula. Meanwhile, the bottom was burning on the pan.

(The toast is embarrassed to be seen with this culinary travesty on the plate, so it is hiding.)

I wonder if the neighbor's dog might eat this...

... but he probably has better taste. Dinner was supposed to be Ruth Reichl's spaghetti carbonara. (I don't mean to drag this venerable author's name into this fiasco, though, so I must state that any resemblance between actual events or meals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.)

There were many factors which contributed to the unpalatability of this dish: pre-grated supermarket Parmesan, and my inability to properly cook the subpar bacon I bought (Reichl specifies "good-quality") - I wasn't sure what the right temperature for frying was, and the bacon fat started sticking to the bottom of the skillet - it never got very liquid. But the main problem, obviously, was the eggs. Instead of producing the rich, creamy sauce that the recipe promised, they immediately turned into tiny scrambled curds.

"Hey, I don't really like creamy sauces anyway," my husband offered charitably.

A Stomach-Turning Sauce

I had such high hopes for today's lunch. But now, just like a bad relationship, I just want to pretend it never happened.

(A few friends are coming over later, and I don't know what it is about visitors that makes me want to experiment, but it's probably best that they not know about this. I wouldn't be a very good host if I served them this culinary accident - I think I'll just break out the packaged cookies.)

You see, I thought I'd make a cream sauce. (Not an oily, curdled cottage cheese sauce.) I had garlic, olive oil, white wine, half-and-half (oh, and some smoked salmon - that's what those little orange things are). All good, right? No. Not good. I'm not exactly sure what happened, as I had the heat on really low, but the cream took on a truly nauseating texture. (I should mention that while I was trying to "cook," my son was deleting important messages from my answering machine, so it was hard to concentrate.) I am pretty sure I put too much olive oil in there, though.

A popular saying comes to mind when I look at this pan: "Let's not and say we did."

Soup's Off - My Worst Cooking Disaster Ever

After reading my previous posts, you're probably wondering, how on earth could I have caused an even greater culinary disaster? Believe me, I did.

I was living in a $600 basement studio on Trowbridge Street near Harvard Square, Cambridge. The studio was located in one of those awful, pre-fab '70's-style townhouses, and it was in bad shape. According to the realtor (she only told me this after I'd moved in), numerous dogs and cats once inhabited the place, and they probably did their business all over the carpet. Soon after I started renting, the boiler had exploded, and since it was in the basement, I suffered the worst of the flooding (and you don't even want to think about what the carpet smelled like).

Throw in a really, really bad ant infestation, and you have the setting for what was truly one of the most unpalatable experiences in history - and a most disturbing image (if you are faint of stomach, please read no further).

I thought I'd try to improve my surroundings by making a delicious soup. I had some recipe for butternut squash soup, and it called for two cloves of garlic. I had never used either common ingredient before. The peeling and seeding of the squash seemed to take forever - I had no idea there were so many seeds.

Then, it was time to peel and mince the garlic. Easy enough, right?

The problem was, I wasn't familiar with garlic terminology. I thought that the word "clove" referred to the entire head of garlic. I was wondering why it was taking so damn long to peel and mince two measly cloves of garlic. Finally I just started throwing the cloves in whole. A dastardly witches' brew began to simmer in my soup pot.

A couple friends rang the doorbell. I excitedly told them about the soup I was making. They looked horrified as they surveyed my counter full of garlic skins. "Um, didn't you know that a clove was just one little section of garlic?"

My face fell. I made the wisest decision of the day: I dumped the soup down the drain.

My kitchen being infested with ants, a black line of them populated the orange line of soup in the sink. I daresay they liked it.

(I moved soon afterwards.)

More Death-Defying Adventures in the Kitchen

I thought I'd have a few mom friends over for lunch. Some of them have read this blog, so they helpfully offered to bring food. I thought I would just make some cookies from a mix; that seemed safe. Except it wasn't.

"Something's burning," said one of the women, a note of alarm in her voice.

"Hmmm. But the cookies have only been in there for about 10 minutes," I said. "Do you think they're done?"

The mystery as to what was burning was soon solved. I'd haphazardly stuck a sheet of parchment paper on top of the cookie sheet, and at least three inches of it were hanging off the edge. It was this paper that was singed black. (Recently, someone on Facebook begged me to stop cooking for my and my family's safety. I guess he was right.)

Fortunately, one of the women (a much better cook) advised me as to the incorrect placement of the rack and of the parchment paper problem. It was her opinion that the cookies were quite done - "But they're still so soft on top!" I protested - and she was indeed quite right.

(In case you're interested, the cookie mix was the French Kiss chocolate-chunk cookie mix from Jacques Torres. It's really great when you don't burn it.)

Hold On While I Disconnect the Smoke Detector...

Oh Lord, what a disaster my kitchen witnessed this evening! To give you some idea...

The picture on the left is the black lava produced by the world's weirdest volcano. The volcano is located in Tanzania, and its lava is as liquid as roofing tar.




The picture on the right is what happened in my kitchen about an hour ago. So, what brought on this entirely manmade, unnatural disaster?

Well, you see, I wanted to try to make chicken teriyaki. Mind you, I'd never cooked meat before; I was a vegetarian for many years. But I had a package of free-range chicken breasts in the freezer, and I thought they should be put to use.

The first problem arose during the thawing. Not having access to a microwave, I placed the wrapped package of chicken breasts in a bowl of cold water. As directed, I changed the water every half-hour; I'd read that this was the safest way to thaw chicken. But the meat just wasn't thawing, it seemed.

A couple hours went by and I decided to just put the half-thawed meat into a bowl of improvised "teriyaki" sauce. (The sauce was supposed to contain rice wine or honey mixed with water, sake, sugar, and soy sauce - I had no sake, rice wine, or honey, so I put in maple syrup and a bottle of Chardonnay that our neighbor had inexplicably handed to me when I saw him in the hall. Do I look like I need a drink?)

Another hour or so passed and I had to admit, the interiors of the chicken breasts were basically chicken-flavored ice. They had been marinating in the bowl of sauce - how was I to attempt to thaw them again? I took them out, hastily wrapped them in some plastic wrap that had lost its cling, and plunged them into another bowl of (warmer) water. Gradually they thawed.

In the meantime, I attempted to reduce the marinade in a saucepan. It had some nasty grey stuff in it from the chicken - fat, maybe, I don't know what it was. At any rate, it was now time to broil the chicken. The recipe directed me to broil it at medium heat, turn the chicken pieces over every few minutes, and to baste often. I only had a small plastic brush that was probably meant for pastry. And I was really unsure about what constituted "medium heat"... I thought broiling meant high heat. So I put the oven on its highest setting.


Oh, I also tried to fry some pierogies for my son during this time. He only has one-and-a-half teeth,

so he mostly eats soft things. This project also went badly, as I mistakenly browned the butter and burnt the dumplings. I still tried to make him eat them; was this child abuse?



The chicken was now (un)safely in the oven. I took the spatula I use for omelettes and overturned each breast several times. When I saw my son heading for the smoking hot oven, I panicked and yelled for my husband to come get him. I poured the pan of sauce, nasty grey stuff and all, over the chicken breasts, but it seemed to pool on the sides of the pan, er cookie sheet. Did I mention that I'd put the chicken breasts on a cookie sheet? I guess this doesn't really matter as I have to throw it out anyway.

The whole time, I was terrified that we were going to contract salmonella, because I don't have a meat thermometer and parts of the chicken were dangerously pink even ten minutes into the broiling. I finally understood why people pound chicken breasts.

Then, the smoke detector went off. I remembered the time my son accidentally dialed 911 and the person on the line said they had to transfer the call to the local police precinct by law, and I then had to explain to the police officer that everything was indeed fine. I had visions of sirens and firemen rushing to our door with hoses; in vain, I tried to wave the smoke around with a pot holder.


My husband located the smoke detector and deactivated it. I breathed out a sigh of relief and breathed in the aroma of black, bubbling, burnt sauce. I extricated a chicken breast, placed it on my husband's plate, and he agreed not to sue me for spousal assault.

So that was tonight's dinner.

ETA: I've just been informed that I ran the risk of exposing the whole family to E.coli, as one should never use a marinade for raw chicken as a basting sauce. Fortunately, I'm sure my cooking "technique" killed any known pathogens.

How to Screw Up Creamed Spinach, Part Two

I guess I was a bit discombobulated tonight. I'd left my Blackberry at Starbucks, or so I thought, and when I went back to look for it, it was nowhere to be found. A young boy said he thought he'd seen it on a pile of newspapers. I located the pile, but not the phone.

Then I burned my thumb trying to take some underdone frozen tortellini out of the toaster oven. I guess I should've used an oven mitt. My thumb now has a blister on it, and I use my thumb to type, so this post might be shorter than usual.

Now we get to the spinach. Mark Bittman's simple creamed spinach recipe directs one to parboil (is that the right term?) and finely chop the spinach before plunging it into a pan filled with melted butter and cream. Preoccupied with my Blackberry and all of the juicy E-mails someone was probably reading, with my thumb wrapped in a wet paper towel, I just didn't have the patience to boil water and put the spinach in there and chop it. So I just sauteed the spinach in some butter - well, more accurately, I first put a pan of butter on the burner and wondered why it wasn't melting, and then realized I'd turned on the wrong burner - and then poured a bunch of cream in the pan.

I now had a bunch of sauteed spinach leaves and a large puddle of unabsorbed, watery cream. I would have taken a picture of this disaster for you, but as I mentioned before, I am no longer in possession of my Blackberry. (I use the Blackberry camera to take these unappetizing photos.)

(Fortunately, someone just called my home phone to say that they found it on the sidewalk outside Safeway.)

ETA: I just realized that I never posted "How to Screw Up Creamed Spinach, Part One." So I guess I'll stick it in right here. The last time I attempted to make Mark Bittman's creamed spinach, I tried to get creative and added garam masala, instead of nutmeg, for an ostensibly Indian flavor. I then dusted the spinach generously with black pepper. When I tried it, I almost coughed. I mean, I know I put in a good amount of pepper, but this was almost unpalatable. I looked at the list of ingredients on the garam masala jar - the second ingredient was black pepper.

Look, Don't Taste

What is this, you wonder? Is it vegan "tuna salad," or is it something you'd feed a horse? Alas, it is an experiment that will possibly (probably) go awry. You see, a friend posted his success on Facebook with Mark Bittman's maple cornbread cookies, which were already a variation on butter drop cookies. One of the other variations was olive oil cookies.

Well, I'm mighty fond of the farro extra-virgin olive oil cookies from Alce Nero; so fond that I have only half a bag left. Naturally, I wondered if I could try to approximate them. But the ingredients in Bittman's recipe diverge from the ingredients in this bag of cookies, of course. Bittman's recipe contains an egg, vanilla, and milk. The Alce Nero cookies only contain farro flour, farro flakes (this is something I could never find in this town), extra-virgin olive oil, brown sugar, and baking soda. There is no mention of egg or any liquid.

Right now I'm in the middle of this ill-fated project. I haven't yet added any liquid, just the egg, but it is clear that I need to do so. There is no way this cookie dough will be dropping off the spoon. Also, the smell of olive oil is overpoweringly strong - Bittman cautions one to use light olive oil, as the flavor is less intense, but how did those folks at Alce Nero get away with it? This is one case where no one's going to be fighting to lick the spoon.

ETA: Is there something wrong with my oven? The cookies have now been in there for 10 minutes and show no sign of baking.

OK, which cookie is mine and which is Alce Nero's? Whoever guesses right gets the whole batch of

mine, for free.

Burnt Saucepan

I forgot to take a photo, but a picture is worth a thousand words. My saucepan was coated with a sticky black film that even persisted after a hot cycle in the dishwasher. What happened? Well, I had a simple recipe for breakfast couscous: chopped apple, dried apricots, cranberries, cinnamon, milk, and couscous. The recipe called for all ingredients to be boiled except for the couscous, which was supposed to be added right at the end, when the pot was taken off the burner. I was supposed to let the ingredients stand for five minutes, covered, with no heat.

I have the reading comprehension skills of a five-year-old with ADD, so instead, I put the couscous in with everything else and let the whole mess boil. I looked over at the pot and saw steam coming out of it. It hadn't been boiling that long, I thought, so everything should be fine. I opened the lid, spooned out some of the contents of the pot, and saw a bunch of black grit on the bottom. Yum.

O Cauliflower, What Went Wrong?

So, I tried to make roasted cauliflower. It ended up being blackened cauliflower. I really wasn't trying for Cajun cuisine, so I wonder what went wrong. I tossed the veggie in oil and put in a 450 oven for about 20 minutes. This is what happened. A package of Thai sauce could not save it. Aren't you glad we didn't invite you for dinner tonight?

What's Wrong With This Dinner?

Tonight I'm initiating a new category of posts called "What's Wrong With This Dinner?" Let me give you the backstory behind tonight's disaster.

I had some frozen panko-breaded basa fillets, a tomato, an onion, an avocado, some cilantro, and some leftover rice.

I thought I would make some tomato-avocado salsa. I put some badly-diced tomatoes, onions, and avocados in a dish, and added olive oil, lemon juice, badly chopped cilantro and some salt. This actually would have been somewhat successful except the avocado was unripe. This unfortunate avocado had the peculiar defect of being both unripe and brown at the same time. I thought only overripe avocados suffered from brownness.

Then I tried to make some cilantro-garlic mayonnaise. I think I needed to have used more cilantro, and also, it would have helped if I'd used a blender.

The rice was also a problem. I don't know what I was thinking, exactly - maybe I was half-remembering some Spanish rice I'd eaten on some occasion, but this was definitely not it. I sauteed more badly-diced onion and tomato in some more olive oil. The heat must have been too high, because the onion was too browned. But the worst problem was a surfeit of white pepper. I've never had a problem with too much black pepper, but too much white pepper is particularly unpalatable. Someone should muzzle my right hand.

My husband, God bless him, ate it all.

Tonight's Accident Waiting to Happen

Note to self: when sifting or mixing dry ingredients, it is not a good idea to leave the mixing bowl in the sink while the faucet is running. I wonder how much water splashed into the bowl, because the batter was awfully sticky. The unfortunate,unintentional addition of liquid occurred before I was supposed to cut the butter into the flour (I was trying to make scones).

I am not sure why I was so absent-minded as to leave the faucet on. I could have been thinking about any number of things... our dishwasher is broken, and the baby didn't want to eat most of his dinner (I wouldn't either, I prepared it!), I'm procrastinating on a bit of freelance copywriting work that I have to do, and I hadn't adequately dried the mixing bowl before beginning this whole ill-fated journey. Ah well.

The directions specifically indicated not to knead the batter very much. They also said that if the batter was much too sticky, to add a little bit of flour, but just a little. I am not quite sure of how much I added, but I don't think it was very much, because the batter was the texture of glue when I dropped it onto the baking sheet.

I was supposed to lightly flour a surface and knead the dough ten times, but I figured I would just try to do it in the mixing bowl.

I just opened the oven door; things do not look promising. Stay tuned.

ETA: It looks like wet, hot, mushy oatmeal, smells like a dog that just came in from the rain, and tastes like pure baking powder! I must have not mixed the dry ingredients very well. Then again, those dry ingredients weren't very dry! Maybe I'll rethink those plans to bake my son a birthday cake.

Tonight's Culinary Disaster

Tonight I found out why a recipe might direct you to flip something over halfway through cooking. This is a piece of roasted tofu. One side is rather edible; the other has the texture and taste of a tree trunk, due to the cook's negligence. I was trying out this roasted tofu recipe, but I guess I got carried away with all of the steps involved in creating the true culinary monstrosity of the evening: dandelion greens.

I do not know what possessed me to make them. They sounded exotic, but they were incredibly, inedibly bitter - no amount of wine, soy sauce, vegetable stock, garlic, and ginger (the ingredients in a recipe from How to Cook Everything - I think I shall write How To Cook Nothing) could mask their unpleasant taste.

(Of course, now that I think about it, the unpleasant taste could have been due to some unknown cooking error?)

So, you're probably wondering now, when are you going to be lucky enough to be invited over for dinner?

Brownie Blues

I was craving brownies. I'm the kind of person who can screw up a brownie mix, so you can imagine the challenge of trying to make brownies from scratch. But a woman on a moms' message board claimed that it was an easy task.

I madly searched the pantry, and the only substance of chocolate origin that I could find was a tin of Jacques Torres hot chocolate mix that had expired in June. It consisted of chocolate nibs, sugar, vanilla and cornstarch - I figured I would try it out.

Googling, I saw that many people were fans of the Ghirardelli recipe for Classic Chocolate Brownies, so I decided to use that as the basis for my experiment, even though I had no baking chocolate or semi-sweet chocolate chips. Since the hot chocolate mix already included vanilla and some sugar, I didn't add any vanilla and added half the sugar. I thought this seemed reasonable. I also omitted the salt since some of my butter was salted (I had three-quarters of a stick of unsalted butter and a quarter of a stick of salted).

I melted the butter with 1/2 cup of nibs. Then I added two eggs. This is where I believe things started to go awry, as I don't think I waited for the mixture to cool before adding the eggs. One of my problems with cooking is that I am too impatient to go through all of the necessary steps. So instead of sifting all the dry ingredients together and then adding them to the wet, I just put each one in separately. Unfortunately, this meant that the baking powder was probably not distributed evenly.

There was definitely something wrong with the batter. I remember from my years of Duncan Hines that the batter is supposed to be creamy; mine was almost leaden in comparison; I hesitate to use this analogy, but it almost looked like a small turd. I wondered if I had any milk. Only half a container of half-and-half. What the hell. I threw it in. At least now I could stir the batter and lick it off the spoon.

I decided to get creative and chopped some walnuts, then threw them into the batter. This was the only good idea I had.

The result was less than appealing. The surface had a granular quality, probably the result of inadequately mixed sugar. And the brownies weren't chocolatey enough; this could be because of the ill-advised addition of half-and-half. They were too cakey yet not risen enough, if this makes any sense. I remembered those Duncan Hines brownies - so chewy, irresistibly fudgy and moist, yet slightly cracked on top - and tried to imagine their flavor, letting the memory erase the present taste.

About Me

I'm a new mom who was catapulted from NYC into the heartland. For the past 15 years, I've done nothing but order in, but now I am forced to learn the most basic kitchen skills. My palate is refined from years of eating well-prepared, delicious food, but my abilities are that of someone who subsists on instant ramen.

The Internet is replete with success stories - Julie/Julia, etc. Here is a story of failure after failure. Why am I starting this blog, you might ask? I guess I'm looking for advice from those more experienced, or maybe my goal is to share a laugh or two.