I do not enjoy cooking.
I know that I have said this before but the fact remains the same. I hate cooking. And it’s horrible truth because it conflicts directly with my love to eat. I sit for hours reading Paula Deen, the Pioneer Woman, and countless blogs that have mastered the art of making good food. I have romantic visions of myself sitting on a patio I don’t own, drinking wine with friends that I don’t have and laughing at lifes’ complexides while plates of delicious food sit before us. Plates filled with food that I just whipped up in my spare time.
My vision is really a catalog add for Pottery Barn mixed with Bobby Flay.
Occasionally I feel the urge to cook and as long as I have most of the ingredients readily available, there is no holding me back. The pots and pans are pulled out, the oven is preheated to the magic 350 and I am determined to make a dinner that all will enjoy. A recipe that I can turn around post about here on my blog.
I finally gave in to these cooking urges even though my cooking common sense told me not to. I looked up a Paula Deen recipe that was sure to please and feed the masses.
The cooking went well and my dish came out perfectly. It was worth warming up my house in the August heat. I proudly distributed dinner to my children and we all sat down to enjoy a family meal together….. Now, I am not sure how many of you have read Calvin and Hobbes but my children must have found mine and took notes from Calvin’s dinner time etiquette. Just seconds after their first bite the fake vomiting noises and suddenly they both asked if it was breathing.
Cute kid huh?.
See that plate.
He still ate it even if it was breathing.