I am a halfway decent cook. Not on the order of Martha Stewart, but I can usually put decent meals on the table in a decent amount of time. I cook from scratch a lot, and I am fairly good at taking most anything and making it into a meal. I can even bake bread from scratch, and people will come back for seconds.
That changed over this past week.
Early in our marriage, we had our command appearance at my in-laws house on Christmas Day. So, I began preparing our big celebratory meal on Christmas Eve. Ham, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, I did it all. It was awesome! We'd eat dinner, go to church, and then drive around and look at Christmas lights.
My father in law passed away three years ago. That first year, we went to my in-laws house, and my MIL cooked "hot dish". An interesting concoction from the Mid-West, this particular iteration gave us all food poisoning. So began the tradition of Christmas Day dinner at our house.
Yes, that's Christmas Eve and Christmas Day dinner, both at our house. Two big meals, plus Christmas morning breakfast tossed in there.
So, Christmas Eve, I began making dinner early. Saltine Cracker Candy, one more batch of cookies, and Birthday Cake.
Wait, did I mention that we now have to cook gluten free? This was the root cause of two of the disasters over Christmas.
The cake. I followed the directions. I added Xanthan Gum, I beat it with the beaters to make certain that air was incorporated into the batter. I even let it set for 10 minutes before I put it into the oven.
When it came out, the cake was beautiful. It had risen, high and beautiful, just like every other cake I ever made from a box. I was very proud of myself.
I whipped up a batch of icing, spread it over the top, and declared myself to be like, the best cook ever, in the history of the world.
After dinner, we cut into this light and airy cake and took a bite of some indescribable, horrible taste that was somewhere between sawdust and castor oil. It was inedible. So, so, very glad that we had the ice cream and saltine cracker candy as a back up!
After giving it some serious research, I realized that I had used a different kind of milk this year. My daughter is allergic to cows milk. Normally, I make all of our baked goods with goat's milk, but this year, when I went shopping, the store was out of goats milk. I picked up a half gallon of unsweetened flax milk. I've used flax milk before, but it was sweetened flax milk. I poured out a small glass of the unsweetened flax milk, took a taste, and found the objectionable taste that I had found in the cake. So.... that answers one question.
Christmas morning found me making scones. I subbed in gluten free flour, added Xanthan Gum, and followed every other direction to the letter.
Perhaps I should have done a little more internet research before I put those scones in the oven.
15 minutes into baking the scones, the smoke detector began it's insistent whine.
I opened the oven door to find a thick, dark cloud of black smoke coming from the oven door.
The bottom of the oven was on fire.
Oh my God. It's not even 10 am, and I've already set the oven on fire.
It turns out that the gluten free flour doesn't absorb the butter as well as wheat flour does. As a result, the butter in the recipe had melted, run out of the pan and onto the floor of the oven where it flamed up into great glory!
Meanwhile, it's 20* outside, and I've got the windows and doors open, attempting to air out the house.
Husband leaves to go get his mom, and the kids and I attempt to put things in order.
She arrives, gifts are exchanged, and the kids and I begin to work on putting dinner on the table.
I turn the oven on, slide the salmon in, and we get started setting the table when...
Damn - the oven is on fire AGAIN.
At this point, I decide that it is going to be called smoked salmon, and that it is finished.
We start putting food on the table. I pick up a glass dish of fruit and, wham, bam, thank you Ma'am, I drop the entire bowl on the floor and shatter fruit and glass EVERYWHERE.
Meanwhile, where is my husband? He and his Mom are sitting clueless. Chaos is reigning all over them, every damn window and door in the house is open, there is glass all over the floor and the kids are yelling at each other to find the broom and the dustpan, and telling each other to get their shoes on.
Still, they sit in the midst of all of this chaos, and don't blink, don't offer help, don't say a word.
I stared at the remains of dinner.
"Smoked" salmon. No fruit. No cake. A house full of thick, dark smoke, and an incessant smoke detector going off.
The kids pulled the smoke detector off the wall.
Our next door neighbor came to check on us and make sure I hadn't set the house on fire.
And still, my husband and his mom sit and say nothing to us.
I ended up calling a pizza place in town that was open and would deliver.
I lamented the entire series of events on Facebook that evening.
I had the following conversation with one of my Dad's sisters:
Me: I set the oven on fire twice today.
Aunt: I used to treat my husband like a God. I would offer him three burnt offerings a day. EVERY DAY!
Me: I shattered a glass bowl of fruit when I dropped it on the floor.
Aunt: IS this a skill you acquired over time, or were you just born with it?
Me: It's a natural, God given gift.
Aunt: Some people have all the luck!
On the plus side, the fire department wasn't called out to our house!
The pizza was great. I think we've started a new Christmas tradition in our house.
Watch out, Rachael Ray!
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