Domestic Goddess

Although my mother (and grandmother) excel at all things domestic, that gene seems to have missed me. Early on in our marriage (6 months) there was an incident with a waffle maker...the details are fuzzy, but suffice to say that using it was a challenge for me. John said "Face it honey, you're no Martha Stewart." At the time, the comment brought on a boat load of tears. Now, it's just a fact. We recently hired a cleaning lady who comes every other week, as keeping up with the house, working full-time, and our travel schedule on the weekends proving to be more than I can handle. (Another reason the blog is so out of date - we have been busy every weekend for months!) I feel like it's a (no pun intended) dirty little secret to have a cleaning lady. Then I found out that at least four other working moms I know have them and I felt better.

So, it would make sense that with more time on my hands I could pull a meal together with little trouble. And I do try! The other night I was reading "A Man, A Can and A Grill," a cookbook I'd bought for John when we were dating. The recipes are all designed for single men who, sterotypically, are not good in the kitchen. I find the book (and its' predecessor, "A Man, A Can and A Plan") to be right up my alley. There are few ingredients used and not many steps to follow. It is, however, important to read the entire recipe, and not trust that you have memorized what ingredients to buy.

I attempted to make Turkey Mushroom Burgers. Recipe called for turkey, mushroom soup, Italian bread crumbs, canned mushrooms...and in the fine print, a beaten egg and teaspoon of poultry spice. At the store in a daze the other night, I bought a pack of ground turkey. I knew we had mushroom soup, Italian flavor bread crumbs and various burger fixings at home. Even fries to bake in the freezer. Ah, an easy meal to plan and make.

Reading the recipe while trying to entertain Maren last night, I noticed that the recipe called for 32 ounces of turkey. My package was 20 ounces. Oh well. Use 1/2 the can of mushroom soup, the amount called for with 32 ounces of turkey. Okay, done. Bread crumbs, done. I don't have canned mushrooms. Oh well. La, la, la...make patties, put on grill. Hmmm, they seemed rather mushy. I attempt to flip them. Burgers start falling apart! "Garbage!" I think to myself (it's my new curse word). Maren, meanwhile, has followed me out to the grill and put on her helmet to ride her Big Wheel. The clock indicates John will be home soon. I run back inside to check the recipe book. OH! Too much soup for this much turkey! OH, no beaten egg to hold everything together!!

I scrape the burgers off the grill and tell Maren she has to come inside that I need her help. She doesn't want to, of course. The clock is ticking...

I throw the hot and mushy burgers into a bowl. They are partially cooked. Maren helps me beat an egg. I add the egg to the hot and partially charred turkey meat. Mixing together all of it with my hands. (OUCH) I grab the broiler pan, only then realizing that i have used the last piece of aluminum foil in the house to bake the fries. GARBAGE. I slide the foil out from under the fries, lay it on the broiler and put the four (down from five due to much lost turkey) patties under the broiler.

Will they cook? Will the patties hold together? Will we all get food poisoning? I am starting to hyperventilate. John gets home. He plays with Maren and changes clothes. I carefully turn the patties. They are barely holding together. Are they done? They are turning brown, but hard to tell if they are cooked inside. Everyone is hungry. I say a prayer and put them on buns.

John looks at his "What is this?" "Turkey burgers mixed with mushroom soup, so they might taste...different," I said. "Different how?" "Well, I sort of had the wrong amount of turkey..." "Oh Lovey, you know what happens when you don't follow the recipe." "I did try to follow it, I just forgot how much turkey," I said. With every bite, I am looking for pink meat versus brown. Maren is picking at hers. John seems to be liking his. He finishes and asks me for more. I give him another patty. My heart is racing. I've read that most people react from food poisoning shortly after eating, within an hour or two. The clock ticks...

And, nothing. No bad reactions. Hurrah!

You may ask, why didn't I just throw everything out? Why put my family in jeopardy? Stubbornness? Stupidity? All of the above? No, there just weren't many options in the freezer and I didn't want to admit defeat. Maren ate a fruit and a vegetable and some burger for dinner and John asked for more. It was a moral victory.