The Joy of Cooking
I make some mean toast. No, seriously. I actually know where the toaster is, and I can press down the lovely button that engages the heating element and in less than two minutes makes perfectly browned toast. Not too brown, and not too white either, but a great combination of the two, making for a flaky surface that reminds me of good quality biscuits. Yes, I make some mean toast.
When I was young I remember on a particularly interesting Mother’s Day my sister and I deciding we were going to make my mother breakfast in bed. It seemed so cliche we just had to be a part of it, creating a meal for my mother on a day that was not her birthday. It was my sister’s idea, really, but I chipped in with some random ideas that were summarily dismissed by the main chef. We got up early in order to create the masterpiece without my mother’s knowledge, both of us donning aprons that had seen better days, intent on getting the combinations just right.
It started with an omelet, which my sister claimed to be the best at making, and the only thing we made that really turned out okay. From there it got rather dicey, however, especially with what I was responsible for: the spicy fries. Now, my mother loves some spicy fries, like the kind you can get at nice restaurants everywhere, but at home we hardly ever ate fries. So, not only was it going to be a delicacy for her, but they were also designed to be a reminder of times and memories of us eating out at nice restaurants. It ended up being neither, and all because I got a bit heavy-handed with the spices. Continue reading “The Joy of Cooking”