Good grief. Seriously now… I need a Mr. Right who can cook. If I owned a restaurant I would call it El Fuego and everything on the menu would be “extra crispy”, “charcoaled”, “blackened”, or “en flambé”. We can even pretend I did it on purpose like those posh places claim to do. I would be perfect there; an au natural. I can see it now….
Patron: It’s burnt.
Me: It’s not burnt, it’s blackened. It’s kind of like short pants on tall people, then calling them capris. They are supposed to be that way. It’s fashionable. Now eat it.
Mmmmmm….blackened.
*LOL*
It is true; I am that girl that burns water. Don’t believe it is possible? Ask my mom, I think it is hereditary. Not only am a master at “blackening” pretty much everything, I also managed to food poison myself this past week too. I don’t know how, but I did.
Obviously being in the kitchen is not my strong suit. Except for breakfast that is. I love breakfast. I can eat breakfast morning, noon and night. I am not just talking about cooking toast either. I can cook a mean stack of buttermilk pancakes, and no, not out of a box either. I am talking about the real deal, from scratch. See?
You can even ask my niece and nephew about my breakfast culinary skills. I have already trained them to say “Aunty makes the best pancakes!” (Apparently nodding your head while saying this phrase reinforces the idea in their wee influence-able minds. Mouhahahahaha! )
So if all else fails when snagging Mr. Right, my pancakes are my ace in the hole. Let’s just hope he likes pancakes as much as I do and that he is not wheat intolerant… or I am hooped.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks so much for reading! Your interest, encouragement and support helps keeps me motivated. Do you have any thoughts, ideas or feedback on my post? Then I would love to hear you!
Cheers! :)