When I was four I accidentally stuck my bare foot in my mom’s homemade German chocolate cake (give me a break, she placed it on the garage steps to keep it cold). My mom proceeded to just cut around the small footprint and serve my family what could be salvaged, which made for an interesting conversation starter.
When I was 12, I volunteered to make chocolate chip cookies for my sister’s color guard bake sale. I accidentally dropped the whole bag of chocolate chips on the hardwood floor- no big deal except for the fact we owned a yellow Lab who shed enough for us to knit a male’s extra large sweater each year.
Unfortunately at 12 I lacked general common sense, so I picked up those chocolate chips and mixed them into the dough (granted I did try picking out some of the hair; the rest would just disintegrate into the cookie, right?).
At the bake sale my sister had to figure out what to tell people when they asked her why there were white dog hairs in the cookies. Just imagine splitting open a cookie to see little white hairs poking out…
When I was 17 I tried to make a romantic meal for my boyfriend; I called it “international dinner night.” I made fried rice, manicotti and brownies. I then cheated and bought queso from a local Mexican restaurant. I scooped it into one of my own dishes and heated it up. Of course that night he raved most about the queso. To this day he doesn’t know it came from a restaurant. (Well I guess he’ll know now after reading this; about time I give credit where it’s deserved…)
It’s obvious that I don’t have the best reputation in the food department. Are you surprised though? I told you guys I was clumsy.
Plus it kind of runs in the family:
Last night my mom made lasagna. I was expected home and our neighbor was going to join us for dinner. The lasagna was amazing- so amazing in fact that I wished she had made more than just an 8 x 8 pan of it. We’re Americans; give me a big portion mama!
After my neighbor left to go home, my mom turned to me and said, “I can’t tell a lie. Did you notice how small the lasagna was?” Oh. Jeez. She explained to me that Dugan (our crazy, two-year-old Goldendoodle) had eaten half of the lasagna when she was at work (“It was a dairy-free, gluten-free lasagna. I didn’t think the dog would even find the smell appetizing, let alone EAT it!”). Dugan is fact did find it appetizing however; so appetizing that he ate two large, American portions. My mom’s solution was to cut off the part that had been eaten, transport what was left into a new dish and not say anything until we had finished eating.
The moral here: a foot impression, a little dog hair, a white lie and dog slobber never hurt anyone- it all just gives food character.
