susiej/reviews

I am no stranger in the kitchen. At the age of ten, I opened a Betty Crocker cookbook, and began plowing my way through the book, teaching myself how to make whatever recipe I fancied at the moment. My Mother never seemed to mind my creativity which probably resulted in lots of messes. The messes may have been tempered by the fact that I was putting dinner on the table by age 11.

A friend, I’ll just her her intimidating Martha, and I were co-hosting deserts for a progressive dinner party. She was a much more “sophisticated” cook… her mother owned a restaurant, and she had been trained by her mother and legions of aunts. I was merely trained by a fictitious person named Betty. (She doesn’t really exist… did you know that?) So, I felt intimidated. The plan was desert bars. She was making the raspberry ones; I was making lemon bars, with FRESH lemons.

Presentation was everything to her. Thankfully, the bars turned out perfectly — well they looked nice away. They passed inspection. Except, when people bit into them, they learned what I failed to remember, as evidenced by the sour pucker they wore. The sugar.

She would definitely nominate me in the “America’s Worst Cook” competition.
You can see more funny kitchen messes at Parent Bloggers Network, and enter the contest yourself,  sponsored by the American Egg Board.

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