I love gluten-free cooking because the art responds well to my wit and whimsy. Like most Americans, my culinary training was gained hands-on, therefore I’m not constrained by any set of rules or recipes, and that makes my cooking endeavors ever new and endlessly entertaining.
My laissez faire attitude toward recipes keeps the repetition at bay and makes every meal exciting—for there may never be another creation quite like the last. (and if there were, I have such a short memory, that I wouldn’t recall it anyway.)
Dear Me,
Hey, I salvaged another ruined meal last night. I decided to whip up instant potatoes for supper. I boiled the water, added butter, milk and salt, and then dumped in the last of the potato flakes. Oops, it turned out a little thin.
In retrospect, I should have added onion and parsley and called it soup, but I wanted mashed potatoes. So, I pulled out the few potatoes I had left and snapped off their feelers. After peeling, slicing, boiling, and mashing, I made the mistake of adding them to the soup. Still soup, and yet even more of it!
Resolutely not wanting soup, I put them in the oven to bake off some of the water. Meanwhile I warmed tomato soup for supper.
The next morning when I turned on the oven to make muffins, I remembered the potatoes. Voila! They were just the right consistency for potato pancakes!
…welcome for dinner at my house anytime, Terina
I do cook like a queen. Imagine a standard queen, any queen, in a kitchen, cooking. That’s me—a person obviously slated for some other purpose—and abysmally unsuited for cooking.
Reality Check: aka a mere attitude adjustment.
