There's a reason you won't find a recipe post on this site (or a "What I Wore" post either, for that matter!) - I am by no means a good cook (or dresser? clothes-wearer? what's the word I'm looking for?) AND I KNOW IT. I'm okay with being mediocre at a lot of things, actually.
And a lot of you out there
are good cooks (and fancy clothes-wearers) apparently, because my IG and FB and Twitter feeds are flooded with lovely photos of delicious-looking meals and treats. One such lady (
Rachel/A Southern Fairytale) has had the power to make me drool at my computer (or phone) screen for a few years now. She posts recipes that seem to be family-pleasing and hearty, two things I look for in a good recipe, and while some of her dishes are above my level of experience, I feel like I could recreate nearly all of her recipes with ease.
So...the other night...I'm innocently trolling along IG...and I
see a photo that looks self-explanatory enough. Chips covered in chocolate. Not that hard, right?
Even I can do that! I thought quite confidently to myself.
I have chips. I have chocolate. I'VE GOT THIS ONE IN THE BAG.
Over-confidence in the kitchen should be the first warning sign of any disaster - you see, I don't own a double-broiler. That's the first thing I realize when I go to melt the chocolate. And I've watched enough Food Network in my day to know that, in order to melt chocolate and not have it taste like burnt tar, you really need a double-broiler.
PLAN B
I take two of my Paula Deen cookware pots -that are already warped and crooked thanks to my husband, who lovingly tossed them a little too hard several years ago after I let them sit in the sink for a few days...or weeks- and I decided I could just do a make-shift double-broiler. And it kind of worked. Sort of.
My chocolate started sort of melting. But not really, so I added a dash of milk (making this shit up as I go, believe me) and some chocolate syrup and voila! we have melted-ish chocolate.
I then grab my bag o' chips to discover A) they're pretty dried out and not so pleasantly crunch anymore and B) they're mostly disintegrated into a thousand morsels at this point.
PLAN C
I take the best of the worst of the chips and just do the damn thing, because I've made it thus far melting my chocolate - I am past the point of no return. The chips aren't big enough to hold by one half and dip by the other, so I keep burning my fingers in the sort-of not-really melted chocolate. And on the bottom of my crooked make-shift double-broiler.
But I am determined!
I stand by my stovetop and dip chip after chip, until I've filled the (very last piece left in my container) tin-foil completely with chocolate covered chips. CHOCOLATE CHIPS! Get it?! Hardy HAR Har!
And then it hits me....
I remember, I don't even like chocolate. How will I even know if this is edible? Or good? Cue: Rhealen Jo - my little up for anything, try everything once taste taster.
She eats one, gives me a "hmmph" kind of shrug and goes back to her cartoons. Well, hell.
When Justin gets home later that night, I show him my hard-work. See?! See?! SEE:
He, too, was ambivalent at best. And thus, there sat on my counter a pile of "chocolate chips" that no one really cared about eating. I took them to our baby-sitter, and she enjoyed them (thank you Sandy!) - so THERE.
I suck at life, and I'm never going to even attempt to get creative in my kitchen ever again. That is until the next time I see one of you out there post something delicious-looking, and I mangage to trick my brain into thinking I can do something totally off the wall, like say, recreate a five-course meal with nothing but light bread and Funyuns.
I am (not the) master of my own kitchen. And I (don't) like it that way.