Its my job to prepare meals around here. The thing is, it isn’t like I ever had any training in cooking, unless you count the work I did in restaurants, which is decidedly different. Anyway, I try. Yesterday afternoon, a cousin I didn’t even know I had showed up, and he offered to cook the night’s meal. This was at 4:30. We headed to the store after picking up my daughter from her post-school activities. Now, when i grocery shop, it is pretty predictable, that is, I have a system, I know my prices, I know where everything is. I take a list, and seldom vary from it, and I stick to the perimeter of the store as much as possible. I can do it in my sleep.
Not so, with this weird cousin of mine. He grabbed the cart and started throwing groceries in at a break-neck pace. In my head, I was wondering if I should call to have my credit limit raised on my Visa. Anyway, we’re home at 5:30, and by 7:30, eight of us sat down to the following meal:
Chicken and dumplings, made from scratch, no pre-mixed dough for my crazy-ass cousin.
Roasted herb potatoes.
Home-made cornbread, prepared in a cast iron skillet that, I swear to God, he carries in the trunk of his car.
Some kind of cucumber dish, tossed in some kind of seasoned oil. (I wasn’t paying attention)
Apple pie, with crust on the top and bottom, with little slits in it so a little gooey stuff escapes, and then, on top of this crust, he layered a mixture of sugar, cinnamon, oats and butter, so that before you even work your way to the top crust, you get to eat a sweet crunchy layer of deliciousness.
I ate two three helpings. I’m broke, but I’m still full.
Oh, and btw, I’m never cooking again. My kids can survive on happy meals and frozen pizza.