It’s Wednesday and you know the deal with Wednesday. It’s where we get to let off steam, and… okay, we’re just complaining.
So, I just made lunch and came to the startling realization that I can’t cook without a recipe and it’s all my parents’ fault. (Hence #genefail – now that we like to twitter. Twitter does not require good genes.) And I don’t blame my parents in any sort of airy-fairy way. It’s a fact. My mother cannot cook. My father is Hungarian, and has decided everything he cooks should contain either lard or paprika, usually both. What hope did I have?
Anyway, I was thinking about a dish I’d eaten somewhere that had veges in some kind of sauce and was yum (the mental picture was far more detailed, but no more helpful). Do you think I could get anywhere near replicating that dish? No. #genefail. It started out okay – I cut the veges, even tossed them about a bit. But that’s about where the wheels fell off. In the process of tossing I managed to knock the top off the gas cooker and flick a large chunk of zuchini into my water at the same time. Then, when I got all that under control, I added my Asian sauces. Still edible if nothing else, but I decided to throw in some feta cheese. I like feta cheese. The Asian vege dish did not. Things got really weird, and I discovered that Asian and Greek really do not mix.
As I was spooning the gooey mix of melting feta and hoisin sauce onto a plate, I was thrown back to childhood and the memories of one too many similar dishes.
Now I don’t mind that I got the ‘you can’t dance’ gene. Or that I missed out on the ‘blue eyes’, ‘maths genius’, or ‘long eyelashes’ genes that were on offer. But seriously, food might be my only joy someday. How could you take this away from me?
Do you have a #genefail? Please – share – lighten my day.
S.
the art of moi 