A Call to Arms

I have the seen the future of the human race on the back of a Betty Crocker Oatmeal Cookie baking mix.  It doesn’t look good.

I normally don’t bake from a mix.  My compulsive, rule loving nature happily follows even the most complicated baking recipes to the letter and, for the most part, everything turns out as it should.  But several weeks ago there was a coupon, a sale, and an impulse buy that lead to a packet of cookie mix next to the tea and rice in the pantry.  With the New Year here, I can’t justify eating cookies much longer, if at all, so I decided tonight to make the cookies and be done with them.

The end of humanity as we know it won’t come from using a mix, per se.  No, the end of humanity will come because, apparently, those who use a mix don’t have two brain cells to rub between their two quickly devolving fingers.  You heat the oven to 375 degrees.  You  mix the dough.  And then?  Then the “recipe” tells you to drop the dough by rounded teaspoons onto the cookie sheets.  Fine.  But wait!  Then.  THEN!  Then you find tucked between parentheses a golden kernal of baking wisdom that only the people at Betty Crocker would know.

(For larger cookies, drop dough by rounded tablespoonfuls.)

Let me repeat that in case the concept is too difficult to grasp after only one read.

(For larger cookies, drop dough by rounded tablespoonfuls.)

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

To whom are these instructions directed?  I am having trouble imagining a person standing in their kitchen, having made Betty Crocker Oatmeal cookies from the mix, and looking disappointedly at their petite size thinking, “I just…I just…I just wish I could figure out how to make these cookies bigger.”

Is the collective population so devoid of common sense, so lacking in deductive reasoning, that they need someone at Betty Crocker to tell them to use more dough?  Are we all such lemmings that without the “go ahead” to drop dough by the tablespoons we would instead eat gumdrop-sized cookies and suffer silently?

No.  I think not.

I say we do away with these patronizing instructions in hopes of saving the human race.  I don’t want whoever it is who needs this sort of cookie direction to stick one big toe in my gene pool.  I say we eliminate such obvious instruction from the package and let them starve while they search in vain for bigger cookies.  Let them sip coffee that it too hot.  Let them eat food still frozen in the middle.  Let them burn their fingers opening bags of popcorn filled with skin blistering steam.  Let them wrangle with the law of natural selection head on.

This is not so much a call to arms as it is a plea for brains.  Now, who’s with me?

Nicholas Scott on Ettiquete

There are certain rules of etiquette one must follow when breaking bread with members of dignified society. For example, you never salt your meal prior to tasting. One must always assume the chef is capable of seasoning properly. If, in fact, the meal is not seasoned to your liking, discreetly season to taste without fanfare.

In regards to salt and pepper, please do pass both, even when your dining companion asks for only one. Having the salt and pepper splayed across opposite ends of the dinner table is just unseemly.

Always butter your bread one bite at a time. Additionally, take your serving of butter from the dish and delicately place it on your bread plate. You may butter your bread from this serving only.

And, of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the importance of always complimenting the chef. In particular, when feasting on roasted chicken, you should toast the chef by placing at least three uneaten pieces directly atop your head.

Continue to eat slowly and in a delicate fashion. You are not gorging at a trough, for Heaven’s sake.

Mouth closed, please. The world has no interest in seeing your masticated food.

Repeat the same procedure with the rice. If you maintain proper posture, as well you should, there should be no concern for food dropping.

Indeed, you should positively shower the chef in praise.

Finally, always offer a winning smile for dessert. It’s rather cheeky, but the ladies love it. Of course, I don’t have to share any of this to a fellow member of proper society, do I? I daresay I am preaching to the choir.

Popcorn

Have you ever wandered down the aisles of the supermarket, happened upon a yummy snack you haven’t had in years, and then gone home and become obsessed with eating said snack night and day? Internet, meet Popcorn. Popcorn, meet Internet.

Mikey is equally smitten. He is especially taken with the popping process, although he is disappointed with how increasingly renegade I have become with the kernel:pot ratio as the days have gone on.

What can I say? I am nothing if not a risk taker.

Nico finds popcorn quite revolting, which only encourages me to feed him more because his little gagging face is too cute for words.

As you saw in the pictures, my secret ingredient is Nutritional Yeast. You’ll have to trust me on this one. I read it once on a vegetarian website and was immediately intrigued. Nutritional Yeast has a nutty/cheesy taste you can’t really describe. The popcorn ends up tasting faintly of cheddar corn. Just a gentle sprinkle of Nutritional Yeast and some salt is all you need after popping the corn in light oil.

Be prepared for company to show up once the kernels start popping. Everyone likes this popcorn–especially dinosaurs and beagles.

Given the massive quantities of popcorn I’ve ingested over the last two days, I suspect my obsessive days are slowly coming to an end. I only hope the next snack that strikes my fancy fits as nicely in the vintage pyrex that once belonged to the Mister’s grandma.

A Cannonball and a Meatball

The Mister and his brother left this morning around 4am to make a Cannonball Run to Colorado so they can attend their Grandma’s funeral. They made it in a ridiculously short amount of time. So short, in fact, I told the Mister I wasn’t going to ask how fast they were driving.

About the time the Mister was leaving, I was going to bed. Mikey decided 2am was the perfect time to spike a fever. He was fine, just burning up. He’s been the same way all day. I’m hoping tonight goes well. He usually burns really hot at night so I’m a little scared to be by myself.

To enjoy some adult company and get out of cooking I went over to my parents’ for dinner. Everything was going well until I made an amateurish move and asked my Italian mother if the meatballs we were all enjoying were from Trader Joes. Holy crap was she offended.

I was quick on my feet and told her I asked only because I couldn’t believe something so delicious could come from a supermarket freezer department. She gave me the evil eye and added it to her long list of Ways My Daughter Never Ceases To Disappoint Me.

When I left two hours later she gave me a tray to take home and suggested I feed them to the boys because they look like they are starving. And cold.

Spontaneity

I’m working on my issues with perfection. I’m trying to worry less about the quality of my writing. I’m trying to let go of the insecurity that often hits me when I read powerful posts written by established writers. I’m trying to enjoy blogging for the creative outlet it can be by writing more often and more spontaneously, even if it means a few posts are paragraphs to nowhere. This is one of the posts I would normally delete before publishing.

Mikey started playing AYSO soccer this year, and today he scored a goal. He was so happy he ran off the field just to give me a high five, which had the crowd laughing and me preening like a stuffed cat. In celebration of this achievement I decided Mikey and I would make Rice Krispie Treats after dinner.

I tried making them early this year by following the instructions on the back of the box to the letter, thinking it would ensure a perfect krispy treat. Instead, they tasted like the Eucharist. Dry, tasteless, bricks Mikey managed to choke down simply because he felt obligated to eat something with the word “treat” in the name. So much for my reverence for following instructions. This time I doubled the marshmallows and the butter to greater effect.

I have to admit the Rice Krispie Treats were still revolting, even after altering the recipe. I remember loving them as a child, but now they are far too sweet for my taste. My opinion reflected the minority, though, because the boys and the Mister promptly set up a sweet-treat picnic in the toy room. It was Nicholas’s first time tasting marshmallows, butter, and cereal combinded.

He agreed with Mikey and the Mister: Rice Krispie Treats are not revolting.

In no time at all there were only two bites left. I think there is something pretty special about a 4 year old boy who offers the second-to-last bite of Rice Krispie Treat to his little brother.

And the last bite to his daddy.