Well, Kayce again wound up out of town and stumped for a blog subject…and, as you might have noticed, I’m late getting it posted. Holy freaking cow!!! Okay, forgive me for this because I’m going to recycle a blog I did a few years back for the Butterscotch Martini Girls site. It might be an old story, but it’s still a pretty good one. Hope you enjoy it and forgive me for posting it late! I’m working remote and it’s been one heck of a week so my alter-ego “stupid girl” got her days mixed up. LOL Yeah, talk about a surprise when I found out it was Friday and not Thursday. Stupid girl!
Okay, so here’s my story and, sadly, it’s very true. I have a very sweet friend back in Tennessee who occasionally sends me things – just for no reason at all. (Best kind of friend to have, huh?) Well, the latest gift was a package of sweet cream butter and a jar of pickled beets. YUM! I love both items and the fact that they came from an Amish market makes them fabulous!!! (Hear this last word with the Joanne Worley warble, will ya?)
Anyway, as some of you may know, I’m not exactly your basic domestic goddess…goddess, yes…domestic, no. LOL (My story…I get to tell it my way.)
Well, as I was saying…I received this fabulous sweet cream butter in the mail and was dying to taste it, but I didn’t have any bread. So I made a mental note to stop at the store on my way home from the drugstore Monday evening. Then I promptly forgot. So Tuesday morning came and I was all set to try out my new butter…and no bread. Crap! Time to get creative…a little out of the box thinking and I’d be rolling that yummy, warm, melted butter on my tongue. Hmmmm
After slamming through every cupboard in the kitchen, I finally homed in on a small (old) box of Bisquick in the refrigerator door. Bisquick can’t go bad, can it? Nah…my mouth begins to water. So I get out a small bowl and the milk carton and I mix up enough batter for 2 biscuits. The batter is just a bit odd looking once mixed up but, what the hell, no bugs. All systems “Go”! I’m going to couple the biscuits with some fried eggs…one of my very few specialties. Mouth still watering.
This is where things started to go horribly wrong. I had pre-heated the oven to 450 degrees (well, pretty close). But the problem was, the handle is missing off the front of my oven door. So I have to use a potholder (for traction) and a big ‘ol screwdriver to open the door. I know…I know…two screws and the handle goes back in place…and I will whenever I find the damn handle. Anyway, in the meantime, the potholder and screwdriver work just fine for the small amount of cooking I do (none, actually).
Well, I digress…anyway, after all the work it takes to pry the door open, I’m not gonna put myself through that again and risk breaking my stunning new nails. So I search through the drawer for something long and sturdy enough to stick in the opening and keep the oven door propped open just a bit…not much, an inch or two at the most. After all, it’s not like it’s rocket science. Voile…I come up with a nice, sturdy wooden spoon. Purrrrrfect!
So the door’s propped open, the biscuits are in the oven, and I’ve fried up two of the most perfect over medium eggs you’ve ever seen…yolk is runny, no snot in the whites, no lacy brown edges…sheer perfection. So I put ‘em on a plate and turn a bowl upside down over the top to keep ‘em warm for the 1 or 2 minutes I have left on the biscuit clock. Ten minutes later, the biscuits seem like they’re done in the middle, but they haven’t risen a whole lot and they’re still white on the outside and starting to form a crust. Not good. Okay, time for more out of the box thinking. I crank the dial to broil and leave the door propped open with the wooden spoon. Then I promptly forget all about the biscuits. (Yes, old age is a curse…forget everything you’ve ever heard about growing old gracefully and plan to cut your birthday cake with a chainsaw…old age is NOT for sissies!)
So when I finally smell that sickly half-burnt smell coming from my oven, I panic. I rush over to the oven, grab the handle of the wooden spoon and crank the door open, catching it in the oven mit. Crap! The damned wooden spoon is on fire! How did that happen? I’ve got a ten inch flame leaping off the end of the spoon and all I can do is stand there and stare at it stupidly. I can’t get the wood to light on a campfire without gasoline to save my stinkin’ life, but prop the door to the stove open with a wooden spoon and poof…I’ve got fire. How is that fair?
So I shake the spoon to extinguish the fire…which doesn’t actually work. Now that ten inch flame has jumped to about fourteen. Really? So I panic and throw it across the room into the sink. Thankfully, the sink was full of soapy water! I grab the pan with the oven mitt and pull out 2 perfectly acceptable looking biscuits…not bad. Obviously the smoke filling the kitchen is from the flaming spoon and not my precious biscuits. Woo hoo…my mouth is watering again, albeit a little bit tainted by the smell/odor of burnt wood.
Now, I pry the biscuits out of the pan and drop them on a plate (with a bit more “thunk” than I like to hear). I saw them in half and slather a good portion of sweet cream butter over the top of each of the halves. Yum…. I add the eggs to the plate (a tiny bit cold by now) and head for the dining room table, anticipation running rampant! I sit, I cut the eggs, I take a bite of the eggs and follow it up with a much anticipated bite of biscuit/butter.
Yum………….no, yuck!!! I guess Bisquick can go bad, after all. Who knew that a year or two in the fridge was too long for it? Well, I didn’t.
So in the end, I wound up eating the cold eggs and scraping the melted butter off the top of the biscuits which, by the way, tasted much like the burnt spoon smelled…go figure! Anyway, let’s just say it’s a good thing my friend sent me that butter because without it, I might have to starve. My cousin advised me to stop saying “I can’t cook” (because the eggs turned out perfectly) and start saying “I can’t bake”. Well, I think that’s a very fine line to draw. After all, two perfect eggs and canned soup does not a cook make…and, clearly, good butter does not a baker make. So what I really need is for someone to come to my house and cook for me…working on my next gift. I’ll let ya know how it turns out. :-)
That’s my story, singed and silly, and I’m stickin’ to it. Hang on tight now, cuz’ we’re gonna go real, real fast!