The Worst Cook In Your Family

[racheld]

Tonight was leftover chicken rolls from a potluck a few nights ago with a giant disgusting V-8 frozen casserole, still frozen in the middle ("just pick around the frozen parts).

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Did they make these FOR a potluck and bring home leftovers? Did people come to THEIR potluck and leave the awful dishes behind? Did everybody go to a potluck and lose the raffle and have to take home the untouched disasters?

And if you can stand it, PLEASE elaborate on that V-8 recipe---visions of a 9x13 pan filled straight from the can and slid into the freezer til solid. (On second thought, a good fork-fluffing and it might not make a bad granita, maybe with a bit of that syrupy frozen vodka in my freezer).

Our family is filled with good cooks---the only notable uneatables come from my sister-in-law-in-law---Chris' brother's wife. Her contributions to family-together meals at his parents' house consist of Suddenly Salad (nothin' bettern dried veggies from a box, just add mayo) or a two-cup casserole holding a half-inch of baked creamcheese; the last is an appetizer--she just has to root around in his parents' cupboards for some saltines to go with.

We've been to her house to dinner only once, and it was memorable, though perhaps fifteen years in the past. It was lasagna, constructed nicely with browned ground beef, a jar of ragu, noodles cooked surprisingly well, all layered with a dozen or so eggs beaten with a carton of cottage cheese and a good half-can of McCormick dried parsley. The dish was topped with grated mozzarella and run under the broiler to melt and brown. That was the entire extent of the cooking process. No baking, no 350 til brown and bubbly, no torch, no nothing.

She cut into the dish with an egg-turner, and the noodles, meat and sauce slid wildly on its way to the plate, with great drips of white-flecked yellow egg falling from each slice in that slow ballet achieved only by uncooked egg or fake Karo- blood on CSI.

This resulted in each plate's receiving a puddle of pinkish-marbled yellow goo, punctuated by the slithery wide grayness of floppy noodles.

Beside it on the plate was ladled a matching puddle, this one in the coordinated gray of full-strength mushroom soup, flecked heavily with leaves and bits of almost-unidentifiable "chopped" broccoli, thawed under hot water until the block disintegrated. What remained of the florets were mush, and the stem bits and leaves were tough little pings of surprise which caught in your throat. If you were lucky. Most of them caught between your teeth, and resulted in a mass attack of hide-behind-the-napkin as we tried to extricate the sharp little shards. Everybody at the table seemed to have an Elvis-face on, as they endeavored to tongue that stubborn bit of foliage out from behind an eyetooth, with the accompanying little clicks and smacks.

And the salad was an under-the-hairdryer special, learnt at her clogging class: Taco salad. Not the generally-approved taco salad with its hearty meats and cheeses and seasonings heaped upon crisp lettuce and tomatoes and chips.

This one was a wooden bowl of chopped iceberg and tomato, to be dressed at table. The vegetables were hidden under a sprinkle of Kraft something, topped by a snack-sized bag of the original Fritos, the little crispy extruded ribbons. A flourish of the Kraft French bottle, a little "smock" as the top was unsealed, and the entire contents poured over, the salad tossed with "You have to dress this at the last minute---otherwise it gets soggy."

So now we had THREE puddles, all running together like the confluence of the Pantanal, mixing and oozing and racing for the bread.

OKAY. The above was catty and mean, and I should be ashamed. I'm usually called on to do all the cooking at his folks' house when we go visit, and some days there are twenty or so for a meal. Above SIL arrives at dinnertime, rested and beautiful, whilst we're scurrying around in the Alabama heat getting everything done.

And she calls my cooking FooFoo. On every visit. FooFoo being nice rare steaks, in a fresh marinade, not shoeleather doused in A-1 BEFORE grilling. Poached asparagus with lemony mayo vs. dumping a can of Green Giant and calling it a day. Tiramisu and Ambrosia cake and lovely fruit muffins and banana bread made at home and transported 700 miles cause his Mom and Dad like 'em. Chicken salad not featuring Heinz relish and Miracle Whip, and the chicken fresh-cooked, not from a can.

But last time we were there, I think I received the greatest compliment of my life: During cleanup, I heard her all the way into the kitchen from her perch on the living-room sofa, "I always say Rachel cooks too FooFoo for me, but this time there watten a thing Foo Foo on that table!"

I'll take that.

Edited June 27, 2006 by racheld (log)

[patti]

This one was a wooden bowl of chopped iceberg and tomato, to be dressed at table.  The vegetables were hidden under a sprinkle of Kraft something, topped by a snack-sized bag of the original Fritos, the little crispy extruded ribbons.  A flourish of the Kraft French bottle, a little "smock" as the top was unsealed, and the entire contents poured over, the salad tossed with "You have to dress this at the last minute---otherwise it gets soggy."

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I hadn't really paid attention to whose post I was reading, but when I got to this paragraph, I had a feeling it had to have been written by racheld.

I love the way you choose to put your words together! And you pick some purty good'uns. Great writing, as usual.

[dockhl]

This resulted in each plate's receiving a puddle of pinkish-marbled yellow goo, punctuated by the slithery wide grayness of floppy noodles.

*URP*

[Nina C.]

Our family is filled with good cooks---the only notable uneatables come from my sister-in-law-in-law---Chris' brother's wife.  Her contributions to family-together meals at his parents' house consist of Suddenly Salad (nothin' bettern dried veggies from a box, just add mayo) or a two-cup casserole holding a half-inch of baked creamcheese; the last is an appetizer--she just has to root around in his parents' cupboards for some saltines to go with. 

We've been to her house to dinner only once, and it was memorable, though perhaps fifteen years in the past.  It was lasagna, constructed nicely with browned ground beef, a jar of ragu, noodles cooked surprisingly well, all layered with a dozen or so eggs beaten with a carton of cottage cheese and a good half-can of McCormick dried parsley.  The dish was topped with grated mozzarella and run under the broiler to melt and brown.  That was the entire extent of the cooking process.  No baking, no 350 til brown and bubbly, no torch, no nothing.

She cut into the dish with an egg-turner, and the noodles, meat and sauce slid wildly on its way to the plate, with great drips of white-flecked yellow egg falling from each slice in that slow ballet achieved only by uncooked egg or fake Karo- blood on CSI.

This resulted in each plate's receiving a puddle of pinkish-marbled yellow goo, punctuated by the slithery wide grayness of floppy noodles.

Beside it on the plate was ladled a matching puddle, this one in the coordinated gray of full-strength mushroom soup, flecked heavily with leaves and bits of almost-unidentifiable "chopped" broccoli, thawed under hot water until the block disintegrated.  What remained of the florets were mush, and the stem bits and leaves were tough little pings of surprise which caught in your throat.  If you were lucky.  Most of them caught between your teeth, and resulted in a mass attack of hide-behind-the-napkin as we tried to extricate the sharp little shards.  Everybody at the table seemed to have an Elvis-face on, as they endeavored to tongue that stubborn bit of foliage out from behind an eyetooth, with the accompanying little clicks and smacks.

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What a wonderful post! I started off thinking, okay not what I would choose to eat, but not the worst certainly. And yet, with each sentence you managed to build on the one before, taking us into undiscovered layers of Dante's- no, I mean Daniel's - Hell. The uncooked egg and karo blood comparison is priceless. But perhaps the best part is the image of your family all simultaneously making Elvis face. Hilarious!

[mizducky]

Rachel, have you ever witnessed your sister-in-law-in-law eat any of her own non-foofoo creations? I think the only thing more unsettling than that lasagna-puddle dinner would be watching this lady chowing down on it all with great gusto.

I think I've written about this in other topics, but the story in my family is that, of my two grandmothers, one definitely inherited the Bubbe Cooking Gene ... and the other most emphatically did not. The slightly scary thing is that both of them, the one who could cook and the one who shouldn't have cooked, worked in food service at some point.

My paternal grandmother was a sweet, unassuming, and very brave woman, with many endearing qualities--I can still hear her lilting accent as she called me a "little maidele" and then asked "You know vhat means 'maidele'? A 'maidele' is a little girl."

All this somehow made her cooking all the more endearing. Nothing exotic about its problems--she simply cooked stuff to death and used no seasonings whatsoever, not even salt. I think my mother once told me that Grandma had read a "health" book back in the 1930s that said seasonings were unhealthy. Her repertoire was small: boiled-to-death chicken, well-done-to-death roast beef, and the same cut of meat ground, formed into burgers with nothing else added, and again cooked well-done to death. Her salads were always iceberg lettuce with a trace of grated carrots and maybe a few cuke slices, all a bit soggy, with maybe a little vinegar. In the fall she would carefully collect every windfall apple from her yard, painstakingly peel and trim the many bad spots from every one, and either cook it all down to applesauce (this was actually pretty nice, considering--fortunately I like it without any sugar); or she would add the apples to bread pudding, which she always managed to burn a bit on the bottom.

Like I said, her cooking didn't really matter that much to me, but the memory still makes me smile. Earnestly and thriftily carving up all those apples--ya gotta love that. (Probably was a well-learned survival skill from the Old Country.)

[GourmetLight$]

Well, I feel a little bad adding my contribution here as my Grandmother in Kittanning, PA made some wonderful German specialties, including her own homemade noodles that I still long for today.

However, being the wonderful "frugal" woman that she was, she always filled the picnic (or day at Kennywood Park) sandwiches with much more lettuce and mustard than meat and/or cheese. To this day I don't like lettuce on my sandwiches.

Also, when hosting her luscious Pork and homemade noodle dinners, she also made a small 9" square of green Jello with slivers of celery and shavings of carrots for dessert. At the last minute before serving, she would "frost" it with some room temperature mixture which included cream cheese. The grandchildren were never allowed to have any, as there was only enough for the adults. When one of the kids asked why she didn't make more, we were told that it was "dear" to buy! I was so curious about the mystery "dessert," that I asked my Mom to make it. Upon finally trying it around the age of 10, I promptly spat out my first taste. I've felt squeamish about Jello ever since!

Cheers,

[Reefpimp]

Probably the hands-down worst meal I ever had to wrap my face around was a Meal, Ready to Eat that I received one night in Colorado when I was still in the soldierin' trade. Frozen beef stew, a John Wayne bar and an assortment of crackers (one big one, kind of like crispy lavosh and more like cardboard) and MRE cheese, which for all I know was developed for the aerospace industry and is actually some hyperadvanced plastic. But the beef stew lollipop... not so much.

Growing up, I was subject to some memorably foul meals at my grandmothers'. Mouth-puckering amounts of salt, no life at all to the vegetables, and the tater-tot hot dish weeping audibly on ther sidelines.

Plus then my cousins would beat the snot out of me.

[Country Cook]

My Grandfathers were definately the worst cooks in our family because they did not cook . Their generation born around 1900 generally didn't. I sill remember my Mom's Dad reheating my lunch in the oven in tupperware , my other grandfather would have been challenge by opening the fridge .

[jgm]

OKAY.  The above was catty and mean, and I should be ashamed.

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I disagree. After a meal like that, any reaction that doesn't necessitate an appearance by the county coroner, is a reasonable one. I was going to snivel about my father-in-law's potato salad, but at this point I feel pretty lucky. I mean, the rest of the meal was edible!

And if you can't be catty and mean about other people's food on eGullet, then where can you?

[Genny]

But last time we were there, I think I received the greatest compliment of my life: During cleanup, I heard her all the way into the kitchen from her perch on the living-room sofa, "I always say Rachel cooks too FooFoo for me, but this time there watten a thing Foo Foo on that table!"

Ummm. Do I understand this correctly that Useless SIL doesn't help cook OR clean??? I don't think so Scooter! In my family I do the cooking because we all prefer it that way and whoever hasn't assisted me gets to clean .

Oh, and I have to remember not to read these types of topics during lunch

My worst family cook is my sister. She tries and some things are just fine but if some cheese is good a pound is better. Literally. Not in the Sandra Lee "literally" kind of way. Actually Literally. She made a 9x11 pan of au gratin potatoes with a pound of sliced russet potatoes topped with a pound of grated cheddar. Bake until you get an oil slick. To this day my husband, who is gracious to a fault, is leary of her cooking and will bring up those darn potatoes. (I've also seen her make a pan of chicken enchiladas with a pound -literally- of cheese...ugh!)

eta: my story

Edited June 28, 2006 by Genny (log)

[acautrell]

My poor mother is the worst cook in the family. She can make incredible bread, pies and cookies, but anything meat-based is better left on the plate.

She has an intense fear of food poisoning so all meats in her kitchen are cooked until tough and dry, and cooked another hour just to be sure. I've roasted whole chickens faster than she cooks a single chicken breast. Until I moved out, I never knew that roast beef could be tender and rare, that chicken didn't have to be dry and mealy, and that pork could be cooked in less than three hours. Burgers were served at least 5 times a week, black and crackly on Wonder bread. I was a vegetarian for the last year that I was at home, and I didn't feel the least bit deprived.

She also never really learned much about seasoning food and doesn't even keep black pepper in the house. Just salt and ketchup, and maybe some ranch dressing if you're lucky.

My Dad says she's learned a few new recipes since I moved out a few years back, including some sort of stove-top stuffing casserole and tacos (from a box).

[Live It Up]

Ooh, I just love threads like this! I agree with Mizducky that the most horrifying part of inedible meals is watching the cook eat it and pronounce it good. My "worst cook in the family" is a hard one because objectively it's my mother's mother, but she knows it and rarely subjects anyone else to her cooking. Just an example, her two favorite dishes are preshredded cabbage with low fat ranch dressing and eggplant, which she puts in the oven and bakes until it's soft, then eats it as is. However, the real terrors in my family are my father's mother's relatives. My dad's mother herself (Bubbe) had what somebody upthread referred to as the bubbe cooking gene. After she and her sister died, my cousins took over the cooking for passover. Of course, you must have matzo ball soup. As my mom puts it their soup tastes "like the chicken walked through it". In addition they serve store-bought gefilte fish (yuck), dry cornish game hens with bottled cherry sauce (edible), carrot souffle (tastes like orange flavored cookie dough with fake vanilla flavoring), and rice pilaf from a box. Yes it's bad, but not overly painful. That is until a few years ago, when we arrived late for dinner. My sister and I were served our chicken water and everyone else was almost finished with dinner. The soup was decidedly spoiled, but when we protested we were told that everyone else had loved it and we were crazy. After dinner leftovers of the soup were packed into chinese food containers to be taken home by everyone else. Well, I guess it really was spoiled because all the lids popped off later that night. That would be bad enough, but the next year, the soup was spoiled again. This time as the soup was brought out a foul smell filled the room. My mom and sister and I were looking at each other with fear. The soup was served and no one said anything. My mom tried to take a taste, but before the spoon reached her lips she screamed "don't eat the soup!" Everyone was shocked, of course. "Oh, is that smell the soup?" "I just thought it smelled extra chicken-y". Suffice it to say that these people neither know how to cook or even what food should smell and taste like.

[SuzySushi]

The soup was decidedly spoiled, but when we protested we were told that everyone else had loved it and we were crazy. After dinner leftovers of the soup were packed into chinese food containers to be taken home by everyone else. Well, I guess it really was spoiled because all the lids popped off later that night. That would be bad enough, but the next year, the soup was spoiled again. This time as the soup was brought out a foul smell filled the room. My mom and sister and I were looking at each other with fear. The soup was served and no one said anything. My mom tried to take a taste, but before the spoon reached her lips she screamed "don't eat the soup!" Everyone was shocked, of course. "Oh, is that smell the soup?" "I just thought it smelled extra chicken-y". Suffice it to say that these people neither know how to cook or even what food should smell and taste like.

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Oh, God.

Not family, but I once (and only once) had dinner at a dear friend's house. Her mother was one of the best cooks in creation, but this friend hadn't learned the first thing about food safety. She had prepared a pot roast the night before and -- because her refrigerator space was not large enough to hold it -- had left it sitting out in a Dutch oven on the (turned off) stove until it was time to reheat it for dinner.

I was horrified, but decided I'd rather risk food poisoning than refuse to eat my friend's food.

Luckily, no one got sick. Thereafter, I always suggested we eat out for dinner.

[Idlewild]

My beloved grandmother couldn't cook. My great-grandmother was apparently fantastic and my mother has wonderful memories of coming home from school to her fresh baked treats and so forth, but for family dynamic reasons she refused to teach my grandmother to cook. So without fail when we stayed with granny she'd threaten us with bread and dripping (mmm! And I didn't live through the depression so I thought that was a real treat) and then serve us bacon, crinkle-cut frozen fries baked in the oven, and tinned baby carrots.

On the other hand when I got a little older she also used to serve me crackers and tinned pate de foie gras. And the bacon, fries, carrots routine wasn't untasty. We never got that sort of food at home, only wholesome home cooking, so it was a treat. But when she moved in with us when I was a teenager it was sort of shocking to discover that it wasn't just what she cooked when the grandchildren were staying, it was pretty much all she ever ate.

I'd tell you about my aunt's cooking but I do love my aunt and she always meant well and has a heart of gold so I can't bring myself to do more than mention dried-out gritty chewy scrambled eggs. Served with love and white toast

[wesza]

My Aunt Francis !

She hosted a family gathering (Cousins Club) where she served her special.

Hot Dog Casserole.

Canned Beans in Tomato Sauce

Canned Green Peas

Canned Corn

Canned Potato

Canned Vienna Sausages

mixture of 2 parts Ketchup/1 part yellow Mustard swirled into the Casserole

Covered with Kraft American Cheese Slices with plops of Mustard and Ketchup to decorate the Cheese.

Her husband my Uncle Joe arrived. Took one look and said he would be right back with a "SNACK" and Beverages. Wait until he returned before starting.

Returned with a Large Deli Loaf of Rye Sliced and several pounds of Hot Pastrami, Corned Beef, Chopped Liver, Potato Knishes, Potato Salad, Coleslaw, Soft Drinks, Beer and a whole Apple Strudel.

The only one who actually ate any of the Casserole was my Aunt Francis after making sure that she had quickly made several Sandwiches for herself.

He was good maturely teased for years about the so called Casserole. His standard reply was he needed to do something since Vienna Sausages weren't Kosher. Guess the Cheese don't count.

Irwin

[dividend]

This thread brings to mind a meal cooked for me by an ex-boyfriend of mine (not technically "in my family", but he came close), after we had stopped dating and were trying to be freinds. He knew that I had gotten into food and cooking, and so he invited me over for dinner, I think as some kind of peace offering.

First of all, the tiny apartment we had shared up until about seven months prior was filthy, empty soda cans and fast food wrappers littering the floor. The furniture was still arranged in exactly the same configuration, with gaping spaces where my couch and desk had been. A quick peek in the fridge revealed 6 12-packs of different kinds of diet soda, a tupperware container filled with what had once been leftovers but was now threatening to evolve into sentience, unidentifiable congealed liquid in the vegetable drawers, and a jar of my homemade salsa, unopened. The freezer was worse - crab legs I had bought at least a year before, half empty bags of freezer vegetables now sauced with ice crystals, and a dozen Hungry Man Chicken Dinners. His latest grocery haul from the Super Walmart was spread out across the living room floor, and was typical for someone who refuses to buy perishable items - mega sized packs of Ritz, Saltines, and Graham Crackers (a sleeve of any of these plus a diet soda was his typical breakfast), flats of Cup 'O Noodles, 8 loaves of wonder bread, a 2-pack of super-sized Jiffy (6 or 7 peanut butter sandwhiches being his normal dinner if he didn't feel like hitting a drive-through).

You may be wondering, why didn't I turn around and leave? Well, he was always so damned cute, and he sounded so excited for me to try something he had "cooked", because he knew that good food and cooking was important to me.

On the menu:

Frozen chicken tenders, which he had tossed, still frozen, onto a cookie sheet, and apparantly forgotten about while he was playing some WoW.

Vegetables in a cheese sauce. From a package of frozen mixed veggies with chips of frozen cheese included. The veggies were still partially frozen, the "cheese" was crispy from sticking to the bottom of the sauce pan.

Baked potatoes. I figured out why they were edible later when I spotted the plastic wrappers with the instructions on how to cook them in the microwave. Of course, that was ruined by having only margerine to spread on them.

This was all served on a table that had not actually been cleared off. He had just pushed the piles of paper and trash and dirty dishes off to the side to create a space for us to eat.

The worst part is, we're still freinds, and he always points to that meal as proof that he "tried" to take an interest in things that were important to me. He's never really moved past that point. A few weeks ago, he set a potholder on fire on my stove, while cooking eggs and bacon in a non-stick saucepot. This was shortly after splattering himself with hot bacon grease when he dropped the eggs into the hot fat from a distance of about four feet. He was so proud of himself for learning how to cook bacon and eggs.

[Kim Shook]

Neither one of my grandmothers could cook. My paternal grandmother mostly didn’t try and had no interest. She was totally wild and told great stories about her youth, but if you wanted a cooky in her house you generally got a Metrecal cooky. Anyone remember those? Metrecal was an early version of Slimfast. Bebo’s fridge never had anything in it but gin, a pint of milk (for coffee), olives, cocktail onions and a lemon. I loved spending the night because she would tell amazing tales about Washington DC in the twenties and thirties, order out for Chinese and (even at age 70) be up for a midnight run for subs at Mario's. Bebo made one dinner a year - Christmas night and it was delicious, but anyt other time, you were served frozen, canned glop!

My maternal grandmother cooked every day and was, if possible, worse than my other grandmother. She was a second generation Italian American and her tomato sauce was: tomato paste watered down with…water . Pot roast was a chuck roast with a few carrots and potatoes tossed in the pan plus a couple cups of water, covered with foil and baked. The only spice she had in her house EVER was a shaker of powdery pepper. Bomo used to roll her eyes at the cooking that my mom and my aunt did (both very accomplished cooks) and say that she didn’t know how they tasted the food through all the spices (it is certainly possible to over season food, they, however, do not). All meats were incinerated. No onions were ever used. She didn’t bake much and usually kept her cooky jar full of these weird store bought coconut flavored cookies that looked extruded with little grooves on the top – tasteless and dry and about $1/hundred. One time when I was visiting her, she had to go into the hospital and I was trying to cook dinner for my grandfather. The only wine I could find was Manechevitz Concord grape (we are not Jewish – she just liked the taste ). God rest their souls, they were not at home in the kitchen, but I miss them both and would give anything for a midnight run to Mario’s with Bebo or bite of Bomo’s Duncan Hines Devil’s food cake (the best thing she ever cooked) .

[JanMcBaker]

This resulted in each plate's receiving a puddle of pinkish-marbled yellow goo, punctuated by the slithery wide grayness of floppy noodles.

*URP*

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I'll call your *URP* and add a bit of 'rising gorge'! Just too, too horrifyingly descriptive, Rachel! And I had to read it as I'm having lunch!

[saskanuck]

That lasagna description was one of the most sick-making things I've read in a long time.

You've probably all read my descriptions of my MIL's cooking in the other "bad dinner host" thread, so I won't belabour you with those. I could probably dredge up some others from my memory, but I'm already feeling ill from reading this thread!

I do recall a lovely beef tenderloin cooked to a charred, blackened mess on the grill by my SIL (wonder where she gets her cooking skills from).

I can't imagine what some people are thinking when they cook. They must have no tastebuds whatsoever.

[Kris]

This resulted in each plate's receiving a puddle of pinkish-marbled yellow goo, punctuated by the slithery wide grayness of floppy noodles.

*URP*

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Yeah, my stomach turned when I read this line too.

I have an aunt who puts Lipton Onion Soup Mix into practically everything she cooks - meats, vegetables, side dishes, rice - EVERYTHING. I find her food too salty. And she's HEAVY HANDED with garlic - and it's that stuff from the jar. At family potlucks, I usually avoid her dishes.

My sister thinks she's a better cook than what she actually is. If she's trying a new recipe (or even an old one), she invariably ends up omitting an ingredient. Then she wonders why the finished dish doesn't taste like it should.

But the kicker is my MIL. She oversalts her food and uses convenience products for virtually all of her cooking (e.g. Shake and Bake, Hamburger Helper and things of that ilk. She uses pouches of chili mixes, relish mixes for potato salad and velveeta for her mac & cheese).

Her fried chicken is the worst...using a pre packaged coating mix, the chicken would STILL come out soggy.

I think the item that stands out in my mind is the New Year's Eve when she made her traditional meal of collard greens, black eyed peas, rice and spareribs (no chitlins that year thank God). The black eyed peas were actually dried ones that she soaked overnight. But the next day when she was cooking them, she added to the pot (and this is NO EXAGGERATION): bacon grease, salt pork, fatback and hamhocks. And then doused the pot with a liberal shaking of salt.

I was then told that I was to be her guinea pig. She held out a spoon of beans for me to taste and it was a salty mush.

[dockhl]

Ack~

I haven't tasted it personally (thank god), but my sister's MIL used to put

Campbell's VEGETARIAN ALPHABET soup in her stuffing for the Thanksgiving turkey !!! All those little peas and corn, not to mention the "tomato" aspect .......or the ALPHABETS !!! Letters......!!! For heaven's sake, man, it is STUFFING !

Ack.

[misgabi]

Grandma was a legend in our family - a legend for "DON'T EAT AT HER HOUSE!!!!".

I had warned my current boyfriend but appaently to no avail. She offered him "lasagne" and HE ATE IT!!!. Then he ate the lemon cake.

Sounds reasonable? Yes, until you knew Grandma. The lemon cake was made (from packet mix) and set on the sink in case 'company called'. When company had failed to show (a week or two later) the cake was placed in an empty icecream container and doused with lemon juice - then placed in the freezer. Each time a visitor came to the house the cake woulkd come out of the freezer and, upon no takers for the cake would go back in.

See the picture - freeze, defrost, freeze, defrost, freeze rinse lather repeat

Yay Grandma.

Lasagne is a story for a whole other time!!!

[racheld]

It couldn't be worse than what I have inflicted upon the dear readers this week---I do heartily and abjectly apologize. (I'm still nudged occasionally in an unpleasant stomach spot by THE post from Katherine, way back in the "Worst Meal..." thread, and would not have thrust this latest atrocity upon all this innocent crowd had I thought properly beforehand).

I do say I'm Sorry, in every language including Sanscrit and Ancient Sumerian. It should rightfully have gone in the WM thread anyway, as it WAS really bad. My descriptions were WAY too graphic and the "EDIT" button's gone.

My most humble apologies. I grovel. I cringe. Kind of reminds me now of our shrinking from DD#2, when she's in full spiel of telling each and every bit of gore from a horror movie. I swear the quote in her yearbook should have been "But I HAVE to tell ya!!!," shouted after a hapless victim retreating with hands over ears.

I didn't have to. For some forgotten reason, unknown save that my mind and fingers get away from my good sense, it just came out. Must have been some sort of wacky catharsis; if so, I owe everybody beaucoup for that moment on the couch.

And there it lies. RIP and forgive me.

[PurpleDingo99]

Among those who cook, my mother. And I let her know it. If it wasn't for her neverending cycle of overcooked steaks, leathery pork chops, bland spaghetti with meat sauce, and broiled-black chicken wings, I probably wouldn't cook today. Utterly neurotic, she would inevitably overcook everything by about 10 minutes. She went through a gallon of soy every other damn week and attributed it to her 1/8th filippino side (although she couldnt even cook adobo .) Fortunately, she had the sense to keep it out of the spaghetti. Unfortunately, it made its way into everything else.

The easiest way to get me to cook is to coerce her into saying "I'm cooking!" I cannot tell you how many times I have told her that i was planning on cooking just so she would stay out of the kitchen.

[MissAmy]

But the next day when she was cooking them, she added to the pot (and this is NO EXAGGERATION): bacon grease, salt pork, fatback and hamhocks.  And then doused the pot with a liberal shaking of salt. 

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Dear God! And you didn't immediately keel over from a heart attack?