Today’s post has one token photo, and it has nothing to do with my normal topics. It is just me, expressing myself. Next week I’ll get back to business.
Trail Guy is the dinner cook around here—BBQ meat, giant salad. Simple, plain, really good. I fix dinner about once a week, normally just something I call Slop in a Skillet, recognizable plain food, mostly vegetables and meat, no recipe, no muss, no fuss.
Last week I decided to try a recipe called Husband’s Delight from an online acquaintance. It used ingredients that I am familiar with and seemed fairly straightforward. (Sometimes I am just adventuresome like that.)
I tried to follow the recipe, but WHY did it require a tablespoon of sugar? Nope, not this little gray duck. I didn’t have the right noodles, so I used a variety of whole wheat pasta shapes that are in my pantry, mostly going to waste because we are being careful to not become diabetic, and apparently carbohydrates are The Enemy. (All those lies about eating whole wheat pasta. . . who knows what “healthy” means anymore??)
I didn’t eat or cook ground beef for a couple of decades, so I was slightly revolted by the process. It was frozen in a tube that was hard to open and it bled on the counter. Ick.
Onions are also something I rarely use. I don’t like how they smell raw or during cooking or how sometimes they make my eyes water. I hacked off the amount called for, more or less, and put the rest in a ziplock bag in the freezer. I wonder if it will be useless later? Probably should have chopped it first, but I wanted to finish up.
And why did the recipe call a mix of sour cream and cream cheese “cheese sauce”? Nope, it was gloppy and got layered as plops, not sauce.
What happened to the grated mozzarella on the top?? It vanished into the 9×13” pan of “layers” once the thing was baked.
What an enormous output of energy! It took a long time, fumbling around with packages of this and that, oops, need another bowl, another pan, grab the colander, where is the grater, my hands are a mess, wash them for the umpteenth time, open another package of something—where are the scissors, nope, my hands are a mess again.
The thing about casseroles that seems so wasteful is that they have to be cooked in various steps on top of the stove and then baked in the oven. No wonder all those ‘50s housewives were on Valium.
Finally got the concoction in the oven and realized there were no vegetables for dinner. I was fed up with all that prep, so instead of making a salad, I chopped up a few fresh veggies and called it good.
So Trail Guy, AKA The Husband, was pleased with the casserole. I told him to be sure to thoroughly enjoy Husband’s Delight, because I am never making it again. I would have been a terrible housewife in the ‘50s. Probably would have taken up smoking.
If you made it to the end, here is a painting for you of a red pepper. Seems appropriate.