( I had to do a WHOLE load of dishes after making one meal- totally uncalled for)

I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll say it again-I’m not meant to cook. This conversation has been mulled over numerous times, and I always tell everyone the same thing. I DON’T ENJOY IT. The domestic goddess bug has never crept into my being, and the desire has never been there to want to create food on a daily basis to consume. Many have shot back to me that I really have never gotten into cooking because I don’t have anyone to cook for besides myself. With no kids and husband to cook for, I really don’t have a reason to cook all the time. I think the distaste for creating cuisine actually stems from an incident a few years back in which I cooked a fantastic meal of steak, Caesar salad, and the most delicious garlic bread I have ever had (which I yet to find again anywhere, even to this day). I whipped up this cuisine for two, for someone who I thought was special, for a lovely evening at home watching Monday Night Football. Except it was not lovely because he did not show up. So that night I was stuck with leftovers ( which made for an awesome but slightly sad lunch the next day), heartache, stomach-ache ( I ate ALL the garlic bread in a manic rage), and a bunch of dirty dishes.

But since I have somehow gained more weight (how did that french fry get under my driver’s seat????), I am trying yet again to get it together and tackle this thing called my body, not to mention my health. They say that 80% of weight loss is diet ( I don’t know who THEY are and that number may not even be true but it sounds good), so I am attempting to start at the beginning, and cook the majority of my meals. You should know this is big deal for me, as most of the meals have come out of a bag, sack, and evidence of this is not-so-hidden under the seats in my car (there really are a LOT of french fries under there). But every time I cook, I get so frustrated, and end up turning back to food that I can drive to. Case in point…foodie(This was the finished product- but you should have seen the kitchen)

I scrolled past a gnocchi recipe on social media earlier today, which called for a delectable mushroom, garlic, and parmesan sauce. Maybe it was the fact that I just loved the word “gnocchi”, or that I have never had it before, or even that it looked cool on the Trader Joe’s shelves, but I had the urge to make some. Now I usually don’t get outrageous urges like this, but as I mentioned before, I need to domesticate my damn meals more often. So I headed to TJ’s ( that’s what the cool people call Trader Joe’s), and started to pluck the recipe’s ingredient off the shelves. This is where I initially began to get irritated. Now if cooking consists of following a recipe, then call me a chef. I like lists, and I really like to follow them. But once you have to deviate from the list, that’s when I get pissed. I needed chicken stock. All they have is chicken broth. Is there a difference?  I Google it, and see way too many debates on whether or not to have a bony finish or salted chicken water. I go with the broth ( AKA chicken water). I need “wild  mushrooms”, such as Porcini or Chanterelle. All I see is Portobello and Bella. Are these wild? Does it matter? Aren’t all mushrooms questionable? I pick up one of the 5 varieties of ‘shrooms that were NOT part of my recipe, and quickly get out of there.

Once I get ready to cook, the fun really began. And by fun, I mean PURE AGONY. I had to make the sauce, boil the gnocchi, plus I had the genius idea to make soup for an appetizer and pork chops to go with gnocchi, because I couldn’t imagine eating little potato balls by themselves. Well, this genius idea took up the whole stove. What I doing, cooking Thanksgiving dinner?!?! I had to use all the pots my granny bought me on QVC, and I still feel like I didn’t have enough room to do all this crap. You have not met the face of evil until you have to take thyme leaves off the sprig and put them into a hot pan of butter and garlic. The combination of boiling water spilling onto my oven top and getting popped by vegetable oil made me consider feeding my future family peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the rest of their natural lives. After what seemed like 4 hours ( closer to 49 minutes, actually), I was finally done and the food was ready to eat. Thank goodness I had that glass of Pinot Noir to get me through the struggle.

Oh, and the meal was ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS! I guess I put my proverbial foot into it because it was awesome! It made me almost want to invite a man over to share these fine vittles. Then I remembered that lone Monday night four years ago, and quickly snapped back to reality. Oh well, leftovers for a few days…


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