Kitchen Disasters

Last night we fed the full-time missionaries. We feed them on a monthly basis and you would think after doing this 12 times a year times at least 25 years that it would become easier.

It hasn't.

I always stress that they won't like what I make. I always stress that there won't be enough. After feeding four daughters, I forget how much boys and men can eat. I always stress that the dinner won't be ready when they arrive which will cause them to be late to their evening appointments.

I don't know why I always worry because the missionaries are always so appreciative of whatever I make. I have NEVER had a complete disaster in the kitchen when I feed them. That doesn't mean I haven't had disasters at other times.

For example, let me share the tale of "Pepper Soup."

When I was a teenager, my mother was in a car accident. She suffered from a whiplash injury which prevented her from doing many of the things she wanted to do. And some things that she probably didn't really want to do, but did anyway. Such as cooking.

Barbara and I took over the cooking duties. We weren't too proficient. We knew how to make really good cookies and brownies, but making dinners was another story.

One day, my mom told me that I would be making Hamburger Soup for dinner. I browned the ground beef, chopped up the vegetables and started everything simmering together when I began adding the spices.

One teaspoon of salt. Check.

18 tablespoons of pepper. Check.

I didn't even QUESTION adding 18 tablespoons of pepper to this soup! I had to be at least 13 years old and it wasn't until I added the 10th tablespoon of pepper that I thought, "Wow! This is a lot of pepper! I don't think I'll add anymore."

When my mom questioned the "pepperiness" of the soup, I told her that the recipe CALLED for 18 tablespoons of soup and she should be GLAD I stopped at 10. She asked to see the recipe.

"Loralee, you were supposed to add 1/8 teaspoon of pepper."

"Oh."

We did not eat the Hamburger Soup now nicknamed, "Pepper Soup" for dinner that night.

I have not made Hamburger Soup since. It traumatized me greatly.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last time I really made a mess in the kitchen.

On Christmas Eve, we got together with the extended family and enjoyed a wonderful meal--roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, perfectly made gravy and all the other trimmings. My brother commented on the absolute deliciousness of the gravy and said, "I make pretty good gravy--but not as good as Mom's."

I replied, "I don't make good gravy."

David laughed and said, "Remember when you made that gravy one time and how bad it was?"

"Yes," I said, "And I haven't made gravy since."

Yes, another culinary disaster. It's not that I don't WANT to make gravy. It's not that I don't LIKE gravy! I'm just afraid of making a mistake of such monumental proportions that it will go down in the annuals of family history such as the "Pepper Soup" and the really, really bad runny, lumpy gravy that Loralee made that one time.

So, my little family has led a nearly "gravy-free" existence except for the occasional treats of Grandma's Gravy and gravy purchased with KFC's mashed potatoes.

My family is quite deprived.

Maybe this should be one of my goals for 2011--to get over my gravy phobia and learn how to make good gravy that nearly rivals my Mom's!

But, I have no desire to make Hamburger Soup again!

Plates of Food = Plates of Love

When my oldest daughter Christie was in High School, she was part of the newspaper staff. A few times a month, the editors would stay late working on the layout of the newspaper. I began bringing her a plate of dinner to the newspaper classroom. While other kids would forage for food at the vending machines or go out for fast food, she had a warm, hopefully balanced and nutritious meal for dinner. It was a way I could support her in her endeavors and show my love for her.

As Heather and Jennifer later joined the newspaper class, they soon were staying late for layouts. A tradition had started and plates of warm food were delivered a few times a month at the high school classroom for at least seven years.

This past week, Emily has had a very busy, stressful week. She leaves for Seminary at 5:40 am. She gets out of school at 3:05 pm. She then rehearses for her school play until 5:30 pm. Three nights this week she has immediately left school and gotten together with a group to work on their English project and has not returned home until 7:00 pm or later. That's a very long day.

It's been a few years since I brought a plate of food to school. But, I knew it was time to start the tradition again. Instead of the newspaper classroom, I have delivered homemade chili, cheese-stuffed ravioli, and orange chicken to the theater. The other students have been shocked. Some have told Emily that they wish their parents would bring them food. I am just happy that I could keep the tradition alive for another year. I really, really like being a Mom!