Over the past few weeks, I’ve been striving to recultivate my enthusiasm for food preparation, seeking inspiration from many, many cooking blogs. I have not found it. What I have found is a bunch of liars with skillets and Internet access. And while I usually relish the opportunity to verbally flog accosters of my aesthetics, I’m unable to confidently determine that my present fury stems from the ineptitude of others, as opposed to my hormonally-decimated sense of taste. That seems like an adequate disclaimer, so let’s get started with my grievances.
I had hoped to be blown away by a site I Stumbled Upon called BunsInMyOven, wondering if I had found my doppleblogger. After combing through the entire history, I slated Country Pasta with Mozzarella for dinner last night, the first home cooking poor Mr. P has seen in weeks. I’m partially to blame for the mood-wrecker that had me in bed early just to call it a day. My eyebrow should have shot up in suspicion upon reading that two cups of grated mozzarella should be added directly to a bacon-grease-based melange, no cream or liquid assigned to melt and distribute it. The result: bacon-flavored pasta and awkward broccoli bystanders loosely coordinating around shiny, bacon-speckled cheese tumors. I had assumed that the dish would be a success from the lovely photos that failed to showcase the chunks of cheesy sadness, so I bought some chocolate chips for Ms. Bun’s scone recipe. I think I’ll go ahead and just hold onto those for now.
My chronic disappointment hasn’t been limited to the independent cooking community; Epicurious, its reviewers, and Gourmet all have a hand in the disturbing apple massacre of April 9th. Recipes like Apple Walnut Crisp make me wonder if measuring cups are universal, and if anyone uses them. When dozens of reviewers rave about such a texture catastrophe, I understand why mayonnaise and Cheez-Whiz are considered standard condiments in some parts of the country.
Now that I’m riled up, I’ll take just a moment to address a real world issue that’s been raising my blood pressure over the past month: clam chowder. Suddenly my favorite restaurant comfort food, milk-based New England clam chowder, has been bisqued. Jell-O should look into this, as I believe they go in for foods that stick to spoons turned upside down. Whether it’s a trend or a regional difference I’ve failed to notice before, my last five cups of chowder have been comparable in consistency to Yoplait, and it has to stop. Next week I plan on making several gallons of this and freezing it, as I have little faith these days that good taste will make a comeback.
If you didn’t enjoy the privilege of my company during my last pregnancy, you’ll start to notice the overtones of resentment and entitlement more and more from here on in. Keep in mind that posts with a time stamp after 3 AM have been written by an especially queasy and irritable individual, and may be just a little dark.