There are some things in life I still depend on my mother to do for me. Reassure me that I won't bleed to death even though she's 3,000 miles away and can't see the cut? Yup. Call and make me hair appointments? For sure. (To be fair, I see the same hairdresser as she does, and I can never find the number. Although, I'd still have her call if I had the number. Okay, I have no good excuse.) And when you need to make baked beans for a BBQ at a friend's house, clearly you must use your Aunt Linda's famous recipe. There is no other option. And so you call your mom so she can call your aunt. And then your mom can call you back and relay the recipe all cryptic-like. "To taste" may be the worst phrase in the history of recipe writing. Especially when the years-old, family-fabled recipe only involves a list of ingredients. How much of this? How much of that? "To taste." That is not how I cook, people. I like precision. I follow instructions extremely well. (When it comes to cooking, at least.)
Luckily, the beans turned out great despite this lack of guidance. Sure, they weren't as good as my Aunt Linda's version, but no one at that BBQ had ever tasted my Aunt Linda's beans. (Except J.R., and he knew not say something like, "These are good, Jen, but no where near your aunt's beans." He wants to live.)
1 comment:
That was pretty funny, esp. the part about JR wanting to live...but got say that I'm glad you still need your mom, and I think we all do when there are times of crisis (cuts that 'could' be fatal, and family secrets of course. I miss my mom. I think you know who this is and I'm just to lazy to sign in.
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