Why I shouldn’t try new things.
First off, Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I’ve got lovely ceilidh music playing while I work and a lovely Guinness Beef Stew bubbling away in the crockpot.
After yesterday’s debacle of a supper, my family is beyond thrilled that I’m making stew for supper tonight. In a fit of misguided optimism, and bored with my regular chicken recipes, I tried something new. I’m going to go on record as saying this was indeed the worst thing I’ve ever made. We’re talking straight up terribad.
In my defense, it sounded like it had potential – sort of an orange chicken dish – or so I thought. It ended up being a dish of pain and suffering, my friends. Pain and suffering lovingly prepared in my crockpot.
My family, bless their hearts, choked it down. And Corwin said, “Mama, I’m giving you an A for effort, but an F for BLERGH!”
It was a fair assessment.
Matt patted my shoulder and said, “You tried.”
Killian gave Herne some chicken. Herne threw it up. That’s how bad this was. The cat threw up the chicken. On my floor. In front of me. Then looked at me accusingly. Nobody made you eat it, cat.
But tonight will be different. Tonight I won’t try anything new. I’ll make the yummy beef stew that Brynn taught me to make. And no one will vomit it up on the floor in front of me.
Oh and speaking of vomit, I blogged over at Evo about words I hate coming across in romances.