The Baby and I make the trek to our supermarket, not WalMart because the Baby hates it (and the "special people" that populate it), and scavenge between the aisles searching for our ingredients. For the most part, we do fairly well. On some instances, not so much:
"What the heck is whipping cream?"
"Don't you mean whip cream?"
"I don't think so..."
"..."
"...I don't know."
"...I don't know either."
"..."
"..."
"...we should ask someone..."
Eventually we make it home and begin on our first, (hopefully) edible masterpiece: vermicelli with sausage and spinach. The Baby has a little too much fun with our slapchop-esque chopping up garlic and onions.
Cooking was never one of those special skills the Baby and I bothered to learn over the years so we stick as much as possible to the cookbook... until it starts looking a little weird.
"Shouldn't we strain it?"
"...the book doesn't say so(?)"
"Do we add the cream now or later?"
"...the book doesn't say..."
And this kind of goes on for a while because the picture in the book doesn't look much like end result we have so we try a few alterations that eventually have me turning around and catch the Baby putting in something that definitely wasn't on our original list.
"What are you doing??"
"Getting creative!" She replies, throwing in slices of cheese and more garlic and cream than the holy book of cooking had told us. BUT,
"It's good!" I find myself saying later after we've sat down with dad (mom's working tonight) over garlic bread, cheesecake and wine. I'm a bit surprised but I figure that, for not sending our father to the ER within ten minutes of eating, it's a pretty awesome start to our domestic endeavors.
...Okay, so the garlic bread was frozen, the cheesecake was bought, and the pinot's really freaking old, but hey, at least we're all still alive, right??
No comments:
Post a Comment