Posted by: anniewilson | January 9, 2009

BINGO, BANGO, BONGO…

I’m so happy in the congo I refuse to go.

So. I was trying to think of a way to make the Holiday Spirit last a bit longer. Anyone who’s following that month long effort…here’s another pleasant little chore for you. This weekend (or whenever you’re equivalent to a couple days off is) watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Of course, this movie happens to be about Christmas but that’s almost incidental. You can change Clarence to the guy in charge of making oil last for 8 days, it doesn’t really matter because the story is so universal. So anyway, watch that movie.

If possible, watch it from the floor and with a quasi holiday spread. I don’t mean you have to roast chestnuts over an open fire…maybe some crackers and a cheese log would be good. By the way, I have got to say something.

You know when you go to pot-luck holiday get-togethers? Well, someone always seems to bring these hideous little sausage and cheese balls baked in little piles of Bisquick. The Bisquick is always doughy and there’s never enough cheese or sausage so you’re basically eating little dough balls with the cheese melted out of it and hardened into cheese chip-like stuff. (Personally, I would make them in the shape of a stick so that you could dip the dry blobs into something…anything…that would give them a bit of flavor. But, I’ll never have to worry about that because I don’t make shitty dough balls as hors dourve.)

The worst part is that these women (or men) always seem to think that those hideous little balls-O-shit are C’est Magnifique! (Kiss the tips of your right thumb, pointy finger and Fuck You finger right here.) The appetizer may be a family favorite but you never know what that family has to compare it to.

I have watched people cook as though they were behind the looking glass. Up was down, down was up…boiling and frying were combined into one act called froiling. I actually watched an old friend of mine make home fried potatoes for breakfast once and instead of boiling them, frying them or frying them after she boiled them, she froiled them. I stared in amazement as she poured a quart of half water and half oil into a skillet full of potatoes. She knew they were done when the water simmered away. She’s spent a lot of time working at nursing homes…but not in the kitchen. Maybe she just took the recipes home one night.

I watched an ex husband take leftover mashed potatoes that I had made and mix them in a saucepan with pork and beans. Then, he topped it off with torn up cold hamburgers. All he needed to make that a nursing home treat was the blender. The sad thing about that man was that he actually enjoyed cooking. It’s really odd, they almost all do.

Some other interesting food show-downs, the time my high school sweetheart’s mother invited me to stay for dinner. I was having a wonderful time…that is until she placed a bowl of boiled tomatoes next to my plate. And I wasn’t supposed to take a bit and pass the rest down…it was all for me. It’s was just awful. Before that night, I had only eaten tomatoes once they were turned into ketchup or pasta sauce. I was already worrying about spilling something, getting food caught in my teeth or, God forbid…burping out loud. I didn’t need the added stress of trying to eat something so hideous before I matured enough to smile, pick up my fork and just pretend that the slop is boiled grasshoppers.

Once my youngest son decided to make me breakfast. I’m not sure why, but for some reason, he was making me eggs. I’m not sure what he added to the egg itself but the finished product looked like a quiche crepe. He didn’t even have to turn it over…it was pretty strong on the top already. He pulled it off the bottom of the frying pan and tossed that round quiche crepe on a plate and served it with a spoon and a bottle of ketchup. It was the first food that I was ever afraid of.

The last food that frightened me was another family favorite. Not my family…as my son always said, “You’re a good cooker, Mommy!” I learned it all from watching my mother, grandmother and Aunt Jean all cook. Nope, this last mess was a family favorite from my last ex’s family. It was called Fat Pizza.

Now, you don’t even have a clue what that could be…do ya? Could it be an otherwise normal pizza with fried bacon fat? Maybe even some whale blubber? No sir ma’am. It’s literally a FAT pizza. You make some pie crust and roll out a piece big enough to line a 13 X 9 baking ban. Then, you make about a gallon of this sloppy joe type mixture (apparently made with the cheapest ground beef you can find…the kind with bone chips.) You dump the gallon-O-slop into the pie crust lined baking pan, cover it with four squares of American cheese and cook in a 350 degree oven until it’s good and hot. I don’t even think you could counteract the cholesterol from that meal with a huge salad and fruit for dessert. It would pass through your gut congealed in beef fat.

So, before you go watch the movie this weekend, hand this to whomever is doing the cooking. You could just leave it anonymously on the fridge. But in the meantime, do you guys have any hideous cook stories? Those are fun and I’d like to read some of yours!

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