Sunday, August 15, 2010

Day #11: Holly Homemaker I Am Not.


So I'm writing this after a few glasses of wine, which makes this post all the more relevant and also means I will definately have to hit spellcheck when I'm done.
I have pictured myself in so many different ways over the years... As a coporate power-suit wearing city dweller. As a bohemian New Englander raising children on organic, hormone-free foods purchased from farmers markets. And, most recently, as a happy homemaker, who bakes and cleans in pumps and a dress a la June Cleaver.
Why not, right? Any thing's possible. And if you know my penchant for organization, you might say "Not so far-fetched."
But what I've actually become has no clear stereotype. Let me tell you some stories:
My mother-in-law was raised in Mississippi. This means she can effing cook. You want a chocolate pie? Be prepared to never eat another chocolate pie with the same satisfaction. You want stewed tomatoes? I tell you, that few tablespoons of sugar she adds must be mixed with crack because these suckers are like tomatoes from nirvana. You want green beans? Try green beans cooked in pork fat and about a pound of butter and see if you still believe all green vegtables are healthy.
Me? I can't cook shit.
What's worse? I live in the south, where ladies can cook. They got pie recipies you can't find in cookbooks, and I burn frozen piecrusts.
I have been hunting for a recipe I can call my own, because that's what women have here in the south. They make their signature this or their grandmama's that. Meanwhile, I purchase oatmeal cookies from the grocery store, stick them on a serving dish from my pantry and lie and say I made them.
When people ask for the recipe I tell them its a family secret.
For real.
So one day I'm at a luncheon for yearbook advisors (swear to jesus, I am that nerdy) and I overhear this woman talking about these little desserts she makes out of crackers, rolos, and pecans, and I think, I might be able to not eff that up.
Here's the recipe:
Purchase a bag of rolos, a bag of Snyders butter snap pretzels and a bag of pecans. Place pretzels on baking sheet. Add rolo. Bake for a few minutes. Add pecan.
That's seriously it. I call them turtles.
So I go home, and I set out the pretzels and the rolos and I pop them in the oven on 400. I pull them out after less than five minutes and there is caramel everywhere. The rolos have burst leaving a layer of caramel all over the baking sheet, and making them impossible to remove. I add pecans because I'm infinately hopeful, but chewing these suckers is like nawing on a piece of my Old Navy flip flops.
I start to cry. Really. I am defeated. A recipe with two steps -- no blenders or hand mixers or kitchen aids required -- and they are a big fat FAIL. Mike, bless his heart, eats one of my hockey pucks and tries to tell me they're good but its taking him so long to chew these suckers, he can barely get the words out.
I later learned that if you turn the oven to 200 degrees you have more sucess.
Later, I come across a guacamole recipe that I make with actual, real success -- like the kind where people compliment me on my dish -- and I think I'm onto something.
Then, I go to the beach and my mom has purchased this guacamole-mix-in-a-pouch that I make and its every bit as good as mine.
Eff you, Frontera Guacamole Mix.
So that's out. I'm off cooking.
But I kind of like to clean. Really. There's a certain satisfaction in scrubbing and dusting and mopping and polishing and then looking at your house and knowing you don't have to do this again for at least two weeks.
The problem is, I wait waaaaaay longer than two weeks to do it again. By the time I've decided I need to clean again, its because the dust bunnies are setting up societies. They are building up condominium complexes underneath the bed and charging rent and holding housewarming parties.
And they probably bake better than I do.
Here's what I do well:
I crack open a beer and poor it perfectly. I can bust open a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and dump them into a bowl. I can sit on my deck and drink the beer and much on the Doritos and we can order take out when we run out of chips.
And I think that's all the homemaker anyone needs.

5 comments:

  1. Beth, I am cracking up reading this! It makes me miss you since I can HEAR your voice so clearly in your writing!

    Which is all ridiculous since you're the one who inspired me to cook back in the day! "Just throw shit in that you like". Amazing words of wisdom (for real!) :)

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  2. This is a lie. Your guacamole is amazing. Also, I think our dust bunnies should hang out. Although, to be perfectly honest, we have more like "dust easter bunnies." They are the size of the men that sit in mall at easter time with kids on their laps. SO yes. I have grown men dressed in costumes sitting in the corners of my home and under my bed.
    -ross

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  3. My Beth is way to hard on herself here. She is a terrific hostess and can rise to the occasion given any recipe. If you have been fortunate enough to dine at her always beautifully set dining room table or more casually out on her deck, you know what I am talking about. Don't expect the shirtwaist dress and pumps, but she does have some very sexy aprons!!
    from her recipe dispensing Mom

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  4. Beth, you made me a receipe book, full of your own recipies... by hand. Have another glass of wine, you fruitcake.

    Love your bachlorette Sister,

    Meg

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  5. where can I get an out fit like that for a little kitchen fantasy i have?

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