Cornbread Crack

The news has been so gloomy lately I thought I would uplift our spirits and our stomachs with a little culinary madness. As I sifted through photographs tonight, I ran across a few recipes gone awry. Ok  Ok! All my recipes go awry but that's beside the point. Before I toss these in the recycle bin and down the garbage disposal, I thought you might enjoy them for your Sunday dinner.   Keep the Pepto Bismol handy and take in the joyous sight of my phenomenal award-winning cooking.

This was rice.

I promise.

I call this The UnRising
No. They are not sugar cookies with cracks.
They are cornbread cracks that never made it to the little muffins they were meant to be. 
No matter how much I sang Springsteen to them they wouldn't rise.

My grandmother's tablecloth would be so ashamed. 

 Blackened salmon ala Mimi.

 This was a mystery...even to me.

I am rather proud of my Christmas party table.
Of course, I cooked none of it.
But I can shop like nobody's business. And I'm very good at romantic lighting.
It takes talent to strategically place candles amongst parsley. That counts for something in this world. I wasn't supposed to cook the parsley, was I?

I stuck my finger in the Santa cake. I can't take me anywhere.

 My fruit bowls are legendary. But the last time I went on a health food kick I got deathly sick. 
Maybe I should have eaten the moldy muffins. 

My refrigerator once looked like this. Once. I made the salads and cut up the strawberries myself. I didn't require band aids, a tetanus shot or emergency surgery. 
It was a good day in the kitchen.

Truth be told, I don't enjoy all this cooking culinary mess. I used to when I was married. Does it really matter in a long line of skinny starving husbands that my cooking was grounds for divorce? 
Baby Boy doesn't mind that I can't cook. That just means more ice cream for him.


One day when I cook up the perfect dish, I will show it to you. Don't hold your breath.
I am presently accepting applications for a cook. Male. Preferably male. Single. 
Preferably single.
Someone who will appreciate my flair for smokey kitchens and melting candles.

And salads.

Lots and lots of salads.

Join us for BlogBlast For Peace Nov 4.  I promise not to cook.