NOW what do I do? Recovering from a kitchen disaster

                Winnie-the-Pooh and his friends were staging a play. Piglet, despite his feeble protests, had been elected sheriff, and Jack, macho leader of the horse thieves, was about to trounce the little pink porker. When the sheriff’s badge fell off, Jack feigned ferociousness. Thief’s honor disallowed trouncing a sheriff with no badge.

                “NOW, what am I supposed to do?” Jack asked Piglet. “If you’re not sheriff, I can’t trounce ya’,” he said in a slow western drawl.

                In real life, WHO could I trounce but myself?

                The Cheese-Bean recipe said, “Cover and bake at 350 degrees for 35-45 minutes. I didn’t notice the word COVER.

                After a birthday lunch, the 9x12-inch dish chock-full of cooked pintos, sautéed onions, chili powder, dry mustard, chunks of still-raw cooking apples, shredded mozzarella, chopped tomatoes, and white cooking wine, sat practically untouched.

                “Rotten grass,” the child said.

                “Potpourri,” the uncle said, because of the apple chunks. “Something you’d serve at a ladies’ luncheon. Don’t ever make it again.” Was that a loyal relative or what??

                Still, what to do? Dumping it flew in the face of thrift. Soup was a possibility, but transforming that much casserole into soup would require more broth and tomato juice than I had containers.

                I had an idea!! Hauling out a gadget that would swallow lumpy brown stuff in the black hole of its maw, I spoon-fed it, whirring each bit of casserole into dip-textured goo. Two storage containers of the stuff weighed six pounds!

                Several cookbooks turned up nothing, but Sanyo’s microwave booklet saved the day. A recipe for dip using mashed canned beans, cheese spread, hot sauce, catsup, and chili powder gave me another idea.

                Shaking several dashes of Tabasco into the smaller bowl of puree, I added cheddar cheese cubes and sour cream. It tasted good enough on white-corn chips.

                I feigned arrogance, and took it to a family potluck. Some sniffed, others tried it, and our vegetarian yuppies, who adored refried-bean tacos, took home the rest.

                Piglet offered horse-thief Jack the sheriff’s badge. After pinning it on himself, Jack became a John Wayne softie. “Now, look here, Pilgrim, I’m gonna clean up this town, ya’ hear?”

                The rust-colored sludge was finally cleaned up, but it might have been because of my threat. “By golly, family, if ya’ don’t at least try some of this, I’ll never bring anything to potluck again.”

                Hey, it worked for my bread pudding!

                NOTE: Though this happened several years ago when we lived in Arkadelphia, it wasn’t the last kitchen disaster I’ve experienced. Sometime, I’ll tell you about the cheese ball for this Christmas that wouldn’t keep its shape. Now, it’s all glommed together in a Pyrex dish in the fridge waiting till I’m hungry enough to retrieve it and figure out how to salvage it.

c 2018, PL, dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA