If you haven't read Ree at Confessions of a Pioneer Woman you are certainly missing out. She's extremely down-to-earth and a darn good writer and photographer to boot.
Oh, and she cooks.
Her OTHER blog is The Pioneer Woman Cooks, and the recipes she has on there are just good food. Period.
And that's where I got the recipe for the Chicken Spaghetti.
I modified it a bit to suit what I had in the freezer and the cupboard at the time, whipped up my version of it, and we sat down to eat. Hubster, my psuedo-daughter from across the street and the rest of the fam, although dubious, devoured the whole thing after their first taste. Pseudo-daughter, who never eats more than a teaspoonful of anything, had seconds and thirds.
I modified it a bit to suit what I had in the freezer and the cupboard at the time, whipped up my version of it, and we sat down to eat. Hubster, my psuedo-daughter from across the street and the rest of the fam, although dubious, devoured the whole thing after their first taste. Pseudo-daughter, who never eats more than a teaspoonful of anything, had seconds and thirds."Great!" I thought. "Something NEW! Finally, something NEW they'll actually EAT!!!"
I waited a couple of weeks, then decided to fix it for dinner again. This time I doubled the batch, hoping to have enough to take to work with me for lunch at least one day. The scene repeated itself, and the entire casserole was devoured within twenty minutes of us sitting down at the table.
But this time something was different.
For some reason, as I was making this scrumptious dish, it was all I could do to keep from tossing my cookies. I saved out a portion for my lunch before the thundering herd hit, but even though I took it to work I couldn't bring myself to eat it. It still sits in the fridge, growing whatever mold ancient and neglected casseroles grow. The very thought of it causes my innards to quease and quake.
So I determined not to make it for a while to see if my stomach would get over this weird malady I'd developed. I mean really, one doesn't just suddenly become allergic to chicken casserole, does one?
Fast forward to today.
My son and his wife were in town, bringing with them Cutie. Since they come in rarely, I committed the cardinal sin of skipping church just to spend more time with them. We met at my mother's home for lunch.
Anyone who CAN'T see what's going to happen, raise your hand right now.
Mom was trying out a new recipe. There before my eyes was the self-same dish that caused my intestines such distress.
A GREAT. BIG. DISH. OF. IT.
A GREAT. BIG. DISH. OF. IT.
I'm sure God smiled.
Thankfully, she also had roast beef as an alternate dish, and I got away without partaking of any of the offending substance. However, when leftover time came and there was a whole half of a casserole dish of the stuff remaining, guess who got to take it home?
Yah, you betcha.
At least the kids and the Hubster will eat well.
Me? I think I'll stick to the peanut butter and crackers.
Me? I think I'll stick to the peanut butter and crackers.
3 comments:
I love Ree's blog. I think everyone does, and her cooking tutorials are great too. I wonder what on earth happened to you? It sounds really bizarre. Can you eat pasta? Can you eat chicken? Is it only the combination you can't face? Hmmmm. Odd, my friend, odd!
Pregnant?
Linds: It seems to be stuff that has a creamy texture to it, not just this casserole. I had to choke down some tuna salad today for lunch, and I normally love tuna salad. I just started a new medication last week, so maybe that's the culprit.
Groovy: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
Ain't got part of the necessary parts for that, m'dear. And since Hubster was... um... ALTERED... before I was, it would REALLY have to be an immaculate conception... and REception.
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