I don't think it's a disgrace that I'm not a good cook. I wish it were otherwise, and I have put together some decent meals from time to time, but in the last few days, my inner chef has encountered some major challenges to its well-being.
First of all was the unfortunate pairing of chorizo sausage with a sweet and sour sauce and rice. Looked reasonable, tasted awful, and truly, deep down, I knew it wouldn't work but I had promised Dave I would use some stuff we had in the fridge.
I made a double batch of macaroni and cheese, with which I usually have success, but I forgot when it came to the sauce, that I had doubled the recipe. Not a winner.
But my worst trial was with the bread machine. We had had a bread machine before, but the loaves were at least 2 lbs, which were too much for us, so we gave the machine to one of the kids. Then last week, we saw a bread machine that will make a 1 lb loaf, snatched it up and brought it home.
Dave made the first loaf, and it was delicious and goldy-flaky. I made the next which was heavy with a crust thick enough to do myself harm with---and I did.
Dave made a French loaf. Guess what it tasted like. Use words that are interchangeable with "to die for".
This morning I made another, but as the white flour was in an unopened bag way at the back of the cupboard, I used multigrain flour, and did something else bread-unfriendly and ended up with what looked a bit like a tough brown kid with mumps.
I am so glad I am able to bounce back from the awful inner-chef place that loaf sent me to.