Dinner Disasters

18 Nov

Meals have been a bit hit and miss this week.  I thought I would use all of the frozen leftovers in the freezer.  The problem was that I hadn’t bothered labelling anything, so I didn’t know what was in the tubs until they defrosted; everything was dirty brown and quite unappetising.  I bagged the lasagne and added a salad, so I was okay; but the other tubs contained homemade vegetable soup, which nobody likes but me; casserole, which nobody likes at all; and some manky-looking mince.  The Hub settled on mince and chips, if he must, rather than waste food; Spud wanted cheese and chips, because he didn’t want mince, lasagne,  casserole or vegetable soup.  Spud ate his cheese before dinner so the Hub forced him to try a mince & chips butty, and he liked it so much he had two.  The Hub, after complaining to me that he doesn’t like garlic in his mince if he’s eating it with chips, wolfed down his meal and then told me it was the tastiest thing he’d had in ages.  I went easy on the lasagne and heavy on the salad with the result that I was starving by seven o’clock. 

Last night we had pies.  Wanting to take advantage of Morrisons’ Christmas voucher offer (spend £40 a week for five weeks and get a £25 gift voucher to spend when you spend another £40…hmm.  Maybe it’s not such a great offer after all), we have started shopping weekly and an hour before closing, because it’s so quick and quiet.  There are also mark-downs to be had, like four pies for 49p instead of £2-odd.  I was feeling unwell all yesterday so the Hub declared it was stand-alone pie night, because preparation is the minute it takes to heat up while the cook is standing in front of the microwave.  Initially, we were having pie, salad and fresh crusty rolls, but I just wanted to go to bed and I couldn’t be bothered.  We opened the pies and they were four flavours we have never bought before.  I heated the pies and cut each one into four, thinking our dinner could be a bit of an adventure, trying new and exciting tastes.  16 pieces of pie ended up in the bin, each as yucky as the other, and we had cereal instead, then I took myself off to bed and wasn’t heard of again, apart from my muttering about the waste of good money and how I could have just made cereal in the first place and been done with it instead of wasting my time with manky pies….

The previous night’s dinner was just as much fun.  I thought we’d have something light.  I decided on healthy tuna and salad with homemade bread (aka ‘sandwiches’), and so I set to with the bread maker.  The measuring utensils were in the dishwasher, halfway through the cycle, so I had to guess the correct amount of yeast, salt & sugar with a teaspoon; the battery in the scales died just as I was weighing out the flour, so I tipped in as much as I thought I might need, but I didn’t know whether it was enough or too much; and I had just poured in all of the ingredients when I realised I had forgotten to insert the kneading paddles.  They tell you to put those in first, and now I know why: it’s not much fun wading through flour paste with only bare hands and a grimace.  Flour tickling my under-nails is the reason I never bake; I hate the feeling.  The bread baked to perfection.  Bizarre.  Maybe I should stop following recipes and just do my own thing.

If my family knew even half of what I get up to in that kitchen they’d never eat anything made by me again, but my problems are not confined to the kitchen: on a train once, I had a packed lunch.  No problems at all with the bread-and-butter, tangerine and water; but, ah, how could I know to expect drama with a plain old hard-boiled egg?  Having peeled it at home to save myself the embarrassment of having to do it on the train, I began to extract it from its plastic bag, when it maliciously hurled itself from my hands and rolled exuberantly along the carriage floor, with me hard in pursuit.  The passengers were pleased with the entertainment; everyone except the businessman who came into the carriage just as the egg reached the door, and trod on it in his expensive leather shoes.  Maybe I should give up eating; it’s like it’s not meant to be.

2 Responses to “Dinner Disasters”

  1. Musings November 19, 2009 at 08:26 #

    I have to confess that my mother does most of the cooking now and the kitchen is more her domain. I know. I know. We’re spoiled.


    • tillybud November 19, 2009 at 11:03 #

      You are! I’m so jealous. My Mum and Mum-in-law were both good cooks who enjoyed cooking – I think that’s the secret ingredient. I find it tedious.


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