Cooking Failures

Tag: family

  • Roll With It… The Thanksgiving with No Rolls

    “Please don’t insist on making a whole turkey this year,” my mother begged me. 

    I was slightly insulted because I had loved making a whole turkey for Thanksgiving the last two years. But then she reminded me that they were both disasters and at least one, and possibly both, were still frozen. I guess I’d forgotten that part.

    I just remembered the excitement of feeling like I was in a Norman Rockwell painting when I stuffed the little bird with a lemon and an onion and I tied up his cute little feet. I made a little butter mixture with herbs, and I rubbed it all over him like I was giving him a little massage. I talked to him while I gave him a little massage. I told him how cute he was and what a good little bird he was as I got under the skin. I was having so much fun rubbing all the goop into him, that I think half an hour had passed before my mom said, “I think he’s good.”

    I’ve always wanted to be able to make a perfect Thanksgiving turkey. The kind you see in cheesy Christmas movies that are brown and sitting on the table with happy faces surrounding them. That was going to be my Thanksgiving.

    But I do remember last year I called my mom in the kitchen with a finger to my lips and showed her that the turkey was not done at all. Together, we played it off though, and she cut off the parts that were cooked, and she cooked them a little more and we hid the frozen turkey parts. It worked fine and nobody questioned why there was such a small amount of turkey when they saw me massaging a great huge turkey earlier in the day. No one knew that the Thanksgiving turkey was a disaster and still frozen. Well, except my mom and me.

    I was telling the story to a friend who said, “Well, why didn’t you look online and get a turkey recipe there?”

    “Really? What? That’s a brilliant idea. Did you think I just came up with an idea in my mind on how to make a Thanksgiving turkey? Of course not! Of course I looked online and I got a recipe for the best Thanksgiving turkey ever!” I replied sarcastically.

    I was a little offended that he didn’t give me enough credit to look up a recipe online before I attempted to make the best Thanksgiving turkey ever.

    “Well”, he said, “you don’t follow the instructions when you make brownies.”

    Nobody follows the instructions when they make brownies. Especially not me. I don’t need instructions for making brownies. I’ve been making brownies for 40 years (although ever since my sister pointed out that I made the brownies wrong a couple months ago, I am more careful about reading the instructions but this is completely different).

    I was telling another friend this story and she said, “Well, you know, you have to defrost it in the fridge for days, right?”

    Yes! Of course, I know that. And I did just that. I defrosted it for like five days! And it was still frozen. I don’t understand.

    “Did you defrost it in the fridge or in the freezer?” my friend asked.

    Gosh, people must really think I’m an idiot. I guess if I have a blog called Cooking Failures and people have read about my many cooking mishaps, I can understand them questioning my cooking knowledge.

    But yes, I looked it up online. I looked up multiple recipes to find the best one. The one I used had the word BEST in the title so I figured that would be the best. I defrosted it for the suggested time. I poked it and it was nice and soft. I followed the directions perfectly and still; it came out a disaster.

    I think the year before nobody ate it. They said it was great but yet, nobody ate it. Except my mom. She eats everything. I don’t even think my brother ate it and he eats everything, too! There were tons of leftovers for Mom.

    Don’t forget that I’m a vegetarian so I don’t actually eat the turkey. So, I really don’t care what it taste like as long as everyone else eats it, even if it’s only to be polite. I guess I should have a serious talk with my family about that.

    So, this year, my mom begged me not to try the whole turkey thing again and just get a turkey breast. I was a little sad about giving up my dream, but also, sometimes you just have to give up.

    I did spend days after the past two Thanksgivings worrying that I gave my family salmonella so it will be nice not to have that worry. I have plenty of other worries though so don’t worry about me being worry free.

    Honestly, I wasn’t even really sure what a turkey breast was. I just knew it was simpler than a whole turkey. Don’t people always buy turkey breasts from the grocery store? And isn’t it always on sandwiches and stuff?  I figured it would be easy to cook, and I wouldn’t have to do any prep work. 

    I had been ordering groceries for Thanksgiving all week. I’ve had them all in my cart and I was adding them daily. I figured I would pick them up on Wednesday so they won’t sit in my fridge too long and besides, that gives me up until the last minute to put in everything I may have forgotten. I always forget something. 

    I pick up my groceries and I’m patting myself on the back for being all prepared as I’m putting them away in the refrigerator and singing Christmas songs. Then I pull out the turkey breast and it’s frozen. Frozen?!?! A turkey breast is frozen too? I flip it over and skim the instructions and it says it needs to thaw 1 to 3 days. 1 to 3 days?!?! Oh no! This is a disaster. For some reason, I thought I was ordering an already thawed Turkey breast! Do they not have that? Is that not a thing? I should’ve ordered my groceries earlier!

    It’s OK, I tell myself. It’s early on Wednesday. I have plenty of time to figure this out, so my family does not once again, need to eat a frozen turkey for Thanksgiving. I decide I will run to the grocery store and I will just buy an already thawed turkey breast. I will save this frozen one for another day.

    I go to the fancy grocery store. I’m proud of myself for my genius idea to save the day. Well, ALL the turkey breasts in the grocery store are frozen. I guess that’s what they do? Obviously, I’m not a turkey breast expert. I didn’t go to turkey breast school.

    So, I start googling it and I skim the back of the turkey breast again and it says that for the size of the turkey breast I have, it only needs 24 hours to defrost. Phew! because we have 24 hours. That was a close call.  

    The really funny part is, the next day on Thanksgiving, when we were taking the thawed turkey breast out to cook, my sister, (who’s really good at reading instructions), said, “Oh wow! You can cook this turkey breast from frozen. It doesn’t need to be thawed. See?” And she shows me where it says COOK FROM FROZEN on the front in big letters. 

    I really know that I need to read things more carefully and stop just skimming things thinking I can get the point.

    So this Thanksgiving, the turkey breast was a hit. It came out perfectly. But what was not a hit were the rolls.

    My youngest son has celiac so, weeks before Christmas, I searched for gluten-free stuffing(which was a huge hit by the way), gluten-free desserts and gluten-free dinner rolls.

    I found a company that looked good and ordered some gluten-free dinner rolls from them. They said they would be delivered between November 24 and November 26, which was just perfect. They ended up just being delivered yesterday, December 1, so that was out for Thanksgiving.

    Months ago, I had ordered some gluten-free crescent rolls. They came in a little packet, and I almost died when I read the instructions on the back because they were so complicated. You had to freeze butter and grate the butter into the flour? I always looked at those crescent rolls and then decided the instructions were too hard and I put them back on the shelf. “I’ll save them for a day when I really want a challenge,” I said to myself. But surprisingly, I never wake up and say, “Today is the day I want a challenge.” Especially not a making-gluten-free-crescent-rolls challenge.

    But the gluten-free crescent rolls were all I had so I guess I was up for a challenge on Thanksgiving. Once again, I skimmed the directions. I thought I was all ahead of myself too because I saw that it needed frozen butter so the night before I cut the right amount of butter and put it in the freezer. Once again, I just skimmed the directions and at the bottom, it said bake 16 to 20 minutes. So that is what I was planning on doing. Once again patting myself on the back for being so prepared.

    The turkey was almost done, and I figured it was time for me to start on these crescent rolls. Gosh, I wish I took a picture because they just looked like a disaster. But the directions were so specific and said things like “use a pizza cutter” and “cut it into 14 squares and roll it this way and that way.” Nobody has time for that so I just took little balls in my hand and shaped them as best I could into crescent rolls shapes.

    I just crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. How important could all that stuff be? And then I read the instructions more carefully and it said sit them in a warm place for 75 minutes until they double in size! What??? 75 minutes!!! But Thanksgiving dinner is just about ready!

    So, what ended up happening was that we all just ate Thanksgiving with no bread. With no rolls. I had bought the delicious Hawaiian rolls for the rest of the family, but it would be so unfair for everyone else to eat Hawaiian rolls while my little son with celiac has no bread just because I couldn’t read the instructions (which, by the way, I had skimmed multiple times).  We ended up making those rolls anyway later and they tasted like sand, so I’m glad we didn’t wait the 75 minutes to eat.

    The whole family decided to forego Hawaiian rolls all to not hurt a little boy’s feelings. They all gave up the best part of Thanksgiving, so one little boy would not feel left out. 

    That’s really what Thanksgiving is about, isn’t it? Being caring and considerate and thinking of other people’s feelings. It’s about sacrificing even something as delicious as Hawaiian rolls, to keep someone from feeling sad.

    There was plenty of food to eat though and I doubt anyone even really missed the bread. But I will tell you as soon as my youngest son went upstairs, we all did shove our faces with Hawaiian rolls. They are so good! Why do we only buy them at Thanksgiving? 

    The turkey was a success, but the rolls were a disaster. I guess every Thanksgiving needs some sort of disaster. 

    Really, this Thanksgiving taught me that I just need to slow down. Sure, I need to read directions more carefully, but also I need to slow down in life. I’m always in such a rush that I skim instructions, I skim emails, I even skim my daily readings in the morning and even sometimes the book I’m reading. I’m always thinking about the next thing on my list. I’m always thinking about what else I need to get done. I’m always rushing.

    It’s not a race. I don’t need to get to the finish line first. I don’t even need to get everything accomplished in one day. I’m going to slow down. I’m going to take my time. And hopefully next Thanksgiving, I will have read all the instructions perfectly and we will have that Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving. With bread on the table and everything. 

    But this year I am thankful for my mistake. Thankful that I was rushing and messed up because it showed the kindness and compassion of the human spirit. It showed me what family is really all about.  It showed the sacrifices we make for the ones we love. Even if it’s just the Hawaiian rolls.

  • My Biggest Fan



    There are plenty who pretend to like my cooking. Well, not plenty, maybe one. My brother. I can’t really tell if he pretends to like it, or if he has no taste buds. Either way, there is only one who really likes my cooking. LOVES my cooking. My biggest fan. No matter what I’m making he sits right by me, tail wagging, drool dripping out of his mouth, encouraging me the whole way. I ask him, “Does this look right?” He wags his tail faster and drools harder in response. These are my babies helping me cook.

    My other dog likes my cooking too, but she will sniff it first, she will daintily lick it, she will chew it slowly. But my biggest fan, he’ll gobble it in one bite. I don’t even think he chews it. I don’t even think he smells it. He thinks it is THAT good. He is my biggest cheerleader, my ego booster, my garbage disposal. He is my biggest fan. But my biggest fan is gone. He died today and I think I might just have to give up cooking once and for all. No one will ever love my cooking like he did.

    He was the most disobedient dog you have ever met. He would not listen to a thing you said. With a name like Boss, what did we expect? Boss, go pee! Nothing! Boss, come here! Nothing! Boss, please stay on the dog sheet and off the pillow.  I would wake up the next morning to this…

    We would often tell him he’s not the boss, but he would just give us a look and say, “it’s my name”. He had no ears. They had been clipped lower than anyone had ever seen before. The joke was, he would do a little ear swipe, and say, “I have no ears. I can’t hear you,” with a little dog shrug. Some people might get frustrated with his lack of obedience and his bad listening skills, but we just accepted him for him. Boss the bad listener. That would make a great children’s book.

    He had hip and joint issues from abuse when he was little, and he was such a klutzy dog. He walked with a little limp and always had trouble with stairs and things like getting in the car. One time I built a little garden in the backyard and put chicken wire around. I was sure that it would keep him out of the garden. He couldn’t step over the chicken wire. The next day, though, there he is, inside my garden sleeping on the peppers. We got a bigger, more sturdy fence and put it around. I was sure he could not get over this one. Sure enough, the next day he is in my garden, sitting on my basil.

    My brother asked “is this when we get a bigger fence?” And I said, “no, this is when we give up and let Boss win. If he wants to be in the garden so badly that he will scale fences with his bad hips, we will let him. We are going to kill the plants anyway so now at least we can blame him.” I’m sure you’re not shocked, but the garden did not make it. Of course it was the dog’s fault. Wait – Is that terrible? Blaming a dog when he’ just died? I take it back. Killing gardens has always been my thing. I take full responsibility. He was probably helping by eating all the weeds. My little gardener. I can’t find a picture of him sitting in the garden but here he is helping us make it.


    He was the most beautiful dog ever. Everybody loved him. The sweet little neighbor girl would drop everything when she saw him. She would hop off her bike or her scooter, leave her toys and run to Boss. She would wrap her little body around him and kiss him all over his face. I can still hear her cute little voice saying, “Oh, I love you, Boss.” He would smile wide, loving all the attention.


    He loved everyone. He would walk right up to anyone and let them pet him. He would also get in any car! One time we were walking at this lake by our house and there was a car with the door open because the owner was loading kayaks. Boss jumped right into the open car before we could stop him. He sat down happily on the seat. “Well, I don’t mind if I do! I love car rides,” he said. The owner was shocked and not happy at all. We apologized profusely as we dragged him out of her car. “He is friendly,” we kept saying, like that makes a difference. This woman does not want a random pit-bull in her car even if he is friendly.

    Boss seemed confused. What?!? If you see an open door, take it! When the opportunity arises, jump on it. Or in, in this case. Wise Boss words to live by. I mean unless you are a kid. Don’t get into a stranger’s car if you are a kid. Or if you are an adult even. Ok, maybe not the best Boss advice at all.

    People would stop us on the street and comment on him. Much to the chagrin of our other dog, Leia, who always got ignored. She didn’t mind though. She was happy to give Boss the glory. Maybe she’ll write a book. It’ll be called Living in Boss’ shadow.

    Boss was a bully. A beautiful and sweet bully. He would steal Leia’s toys, treats, food right from her and she would happily let him. She would do anything for Boss. She loved him and he loved her. Even though he pretended he didn’t. He would eye roll at her excessive barking at every person, butterfly or bird that passed our house.

    When we first got Boss he would get up and run to Leia when she would bark out the front window.

    “What?!? What is it?!?? Is everything ok?!? Do you need my muscles?!?!” Boss would ask all worried but ready to save the day.

    “I saw a leaf!” Leia would respond, all proud of herself. Boss would sigh and go back to his spot on the couch. He learned quickly and when Leia would bark, he would lift his head, give me a look, roll his eyes, and go back to sleep. We left Leia to protect the house herself from squirrels, lizards and neighborhood children.

    Leia is not great with other dogs and we always tell her we never thought she’d have a friend. But she had a friend. A best friend. She had a Boss. I’m not sure how she’ll live without him. I’m not sure how any of us will.


    Car rides were his favorite things. He’s an old frail dog but if you said the words car ride he would run into things and knock them over like a bull in a China shop. Or a kid in a mosh pit. He was so excited. We all learned to brace ourselves. Leia especially ducked and moved out of his way. I learned this lesson the hard way when Boss accidentally headbutted me in his excitement and gave me a fat lip.

    He loved to stick his head out the window, his little lip flap flapping in the wind. A look of pure happiness on his face. Dog drool smudging up the car window. I will never wash the drool off my car window. We always said we wished the whole world could be as happy as Boss with his head out the car window. The world would be a much better place if people found joy in small things like sticking their heads out the window. Oh, and pup cups. That guy loved a pup cup.

    He helped me with dishes every night by licking each one clean. He was meticulous about doing the dishes. He takes his job very seriously. Such a big helper. If you like a clean dog slobbery plate. I secretly cleaned them after him when he wasn’t looking but please don’t tell him that. He loves being a helper.

    He would definitely let you know what he wanted. If there was pizza on top of the oven, he would sit right next to the oven, all tall and proud, looking up at the pizza and then back at me, and repeatedly humph until you noticed him. He’d make a little “humph” sound when he wanted your attention. He would do that with treats too. Sit right by the counter where the treats are and humph until you gave him one.

    He would communicate in an almost human-like way. While we sat and ate our dinner, he would lay on the floor and howl and whine and ask for food. It was a back-and-forth conversation. We would tell him that he must wait patiently, and then he would howl at us. We would tell him that we know he wants tacos, but he must wait until we finish ours, and then he would howl back at us. It was a little annoying but also hilarious and now we miss it. Dinners are too quiet. “Don’t eat it all,” he would say. “I just HAVE to have some.”

    At the end of the meals, we make a little plate for him and Leia. He would devour it in two minutes, give me a wink over his shoulder and say, “Delicious! You did it again, mom. You are the BEST cook ever.” And then he would go and eat Leia’s plate. And she would step aside and let him.

    I’ve never loved a dog like I loved Boss. They say there is no love greater than a child and their dog/pet. I disagree and think adult dog love is much stronger. Maybe because as adults we know how hard it is to find true unconditional love.

    Live your life like Boss. Forget the rules. Forget listening to others. Just do what makes you happy. Overcome obstacles to lay on peppers. Find the sunshine. Stick your head out the window every now and then. Humph until you get noticed. And get in a stranger’s car when the opportunity arises. Well, maybe not that one.

  • The Summer I Could Cook

    About seven years ago, my brother graduated from high school. He lived in Florida and he needed a little change of scenery for the summer. He wanted to get away and get his thoughts together and try to figure out what he was doing with his life. That’s the big question all 18-year-olds have. So, we decided he would come stay with me for the summer. I had a friend who owned an electric company and was looking for workers, so I got him a summer job. The plan was he would come for the summer and then go back to Florida and most likely go to community college there.

    Honestly, I do not remember what I fed my kids before my brother came to stay with me, but it must have been something, right? I mean they are still alive. It might’ve been those Purdue chicken nuggets. They are technically not frozen. They are sort of fresh and refrigerated so they seemed healthier to me. I was also pretty good at making Kraft mac & cheese, and really good at making those Bob Evans microwave mashed potatoes. I think I also excelled at toasting a piece of bread, then putting a slice of super processed American cheese on it and cutting it up in little squares. I think I did try to throw in a piece of fruit and some frozen peas sometimes. It must’ve been something like that.

    But that summer, when my brother was here, I was going to pretend I could cook. Just for the summer. I could fake it for three months. I was excited because I always wanted to be one of those people who cook. Even a fake person who could cook. Maybe after three months of pretending I might really turn into one of those people who can cook. Spoiler alert, I didn’t. But I really did a great job of faking it. Kind of.

    I must first share that my brother has never really had a home-cooked meal. He probably has once or twice when he went to friends’ houses but as far as his own house and growing up, he never had a home-cooked meal. They went out for every single meal. Going out to a restaurant was the norm for him and he was actually quite sick of it.  I already had that going for me because first, he had no idea what a home-cooked meal was or what it was really supposed to taste like so that definitely worked to my advantage. I’m not saying my food would be better than a restaurant but maybe it comes with different expectations. This is not a restaurant! Lower your expectations!

    Another advantage I had was that he liked everything. Everything.  I made lemon chicken that summer that was so sour it made everyone’s face pucker when they tried it.  But not my brother, he ate it and said it was good.  Hey- maybe he doesn’t like everything… Maybe he was just being polite.

    Every meal was so stressful because I had to act like it was simple for me. Faking who you are every day is exhausting.  I had to act like I was easily whipping everything together like Martha Stewart when really I was sweating bullets, trying not to be intimidated by the meat, and just praying that the meal came out edible. I was up late Googling recipes and then reading them over and over and over memorizing them so it would look effortless when I made them. I was also hoping that during this experiment I would find something that my kids would like. That didn’t happen. But the summer went on and I became good at faking I was a person who can cook and I think my brother actually believed me.  Or he’s good at faking it too.

    Time flies as it often does and finally, it was mid-August. My brother was good company, and the kids loved him. I would miss my brother very much BUT I also was a little relieved to be able to go back to being the woman who cannot cook. After much discussion though, it was decided that my brother would not return back to Florida. He would stay here and work and go to the local community college.

    I called my mom to share the news with her, and I was crying hysterically when I told her. She replied, “You love Lucas! You love having him there! Why in the world are you crying?”

    I said, between sniffles and sobs, “Now I’m going to have to pretend to cook forever!”

    But I didn’t. I came clean and told my brother I cannot cook.  Maybe he knew?  I like to think not because I faked it so well.  He didn’t care about my cooking, and I saw that it was silly to try to be something I am not to impress someone.  Yes, I know that is a lesson I should have learned 20 years ago.

    Now, six years since that summer, my brother and I are a cooking failure team.  We have our own little failure club.  Of course, anyone is welcome to join but no one does.  Does anyone really want to be a failure?  He’s my little sous chef and we cook our failures together. We hold our breath in anticipation, watching my kids take the first bite.  After three bites they declare they don’t like it, go back upstairs to play video games, and my brother and I high five and shrug.  We’ll try again tomorrow we say. You can’t win them all.  Or any in this case.