Disasters of the Culinary Kind

After my mother began working away from home, I assumed responsibility for most of the cooking for my family.  Goulash, spaghetti, burritos, and basically anything that could be mixed with cream of mushroom soup were the typical fare.  These, however, rapidly became boring to cook and to eat.  I desired something more exotic.  Thus, I attempted stir fry in the deep fryer.  It didn't work.  I tried chocolate pancakes, adding cocoa powder to the pancake batter.  The result was less than satisfactory.  

High school required little cooking, and from that time until my arrival in Martin, I have been fed by others.  It has come as a rather pleasant experience, as a result, to begin cooking for myself again.  I fear, however, that my my inclinations toward alimentary experimentation have gone away.  It was for this reason that I decided I would attempt authentic New Orleans red beans and rice.  I followed a recipe, and for hours slaved over this dish.  The aroma was enchanting.  Until I added chorizo.  A word to the wise: When a recipe calls for chorizo, they mean Spanish chorizo, not the red slime masquerading as Mexican chorizo found in South Dakota grocery stores.  To make a long story short, after forcing myself to eat it for three meals, I was forced to send the remainder to that great kitchen in the sky via the garbage disposal.  It was a disaster.

So, here's to hoping that the sauerkraut soup turns out better.