Heaven help us all, I'm hosting a dinner party in a little over a week. You would think that a person who writes a recipe blog would not need Divine Intervention to successfully host a dinner party (and a potluck at that, all I'm responsible for is the main dish) but lately I've been experiencing a run of bad dishes. Dishes that tasted bad. Dishes that looked bad but tasted okay. Dishes that should have been good, but were a new recipe for me and so some unidentified crucial step was impaired, leading to subpar food. (The taker of Chemistry classes in me likes to call this "the rate limiting step", maybe because I had two separate instructors use the "making a sandwich" analogy to describe that concept.)
Now it's bad enough when you're making food just for yourself and you both wildly overproduce and fail to accomplish tastiness. This leads to such desperate measures as repurposing food or, as I have resorted to lately, just throwing it out. Yes, I admit it. I have thrown out enough food to cause at least three Italian grandmothers to have heart attacks in the last week, but I had reached my criteria at last: spoilage and intentional eating out due to nastiness. (I have been known to accidentally-on-purpose forget about something in the fridge until it went bad and I could throw it away. It's sad that I have to play passive-aggressive games with myself over the refrigerator.) But returning to the subject, multiply all of the above bad by the number of guests who are not related to me and therefore do not have to pretend to like it, and you'll have an idea of why I have resorted to prayer.
I think I'll grill hotdogs when it comes time for my birthday. Hotdogs are foolproof.
Now it's bad enough when you're making food just for yourself and you both wildly overproduce and fail to accomplish tastiness. This leads to such desperate measures as repurposing food or, as I have resorted to lately, just throwing it out. Yes, I admit it. I have thrown out enough food to cause at least three Italian grandmothers to have heart attacks in the last week, but I had reached my criteria at last: spoilage and intentional eating out due to nastiness. (I have been known to accidentally-on-purpose forget about something in the fridge until it went bad and I could throw it away. It's sad that I have to play passive-aggressive games with myself over the refrigerator.) But returning to the subject, multiply all of the above bad by the number of guests who are not related to me and therefore do not have to pretend to like it, and you'll have an idea of why I have resorted to prayer.
I think I'll grill hotdogs when it comes time for my birthday. Hotdogs are foolproof.
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