#cooking-fail

Avatar

Anyways, do you all want to hear about a Thanksgiving fail by yours truly?

My family loves green bean casserole, ever since I started cooking it a couple of years ago. It's not too heavy, it's tasty, and it's good for the weather.

So, right now, I was about to make it again. I'm already about to set the beans to boil, after I spent a considerable time handling them, looking at them, studying them, when I realize "Hey, these aren't green beans, these are Romano beans. How did I screw that up?" (Yes, I know they're really similar and from the same family, but it's the principle of the thing). So, I mention it to my mother and she's like, "These are the Romano beans I was planning to cook later."

For comparison, Romano beans on top (cut in half), lighter color and wide, and green beans on the bottom, darker and narrow.

The best part is, I knew I bought green beans. I was the one selecting them at the store. And yet, it took me this long to realize I was preparing the wrong ones.

At least, now Mom doesn't need to wash her beans when she cooks them.

Avatar

Peeling shrimp while on the phone with my mom.

Me: oh no. I’m remembering how much I hate shellfish.

Mom: you like shrimp.

Me: ya without the shells! Ugh! YUCK!

Mom: so just buy peeled shrimp.

Me: I always have! Gran gave me these... ACK. GROSS!

Mom: oh poo. Haven’t you had a shrimp cocktail?

Me: AAAAAGH! EW! Those only have the tails! They just pop right off. THESE HAVE— LEGS!

Mom: 😂

Me: EW EW EW! GROSS SPIDERY LEGS AAAAAAAAAH—

Mom: done?

Me: yeah that was the last one. I am never doing that again.

Avatar

The new buscuit recipe I tried last night didn't turn out quite the way I wanted. They were supposed to rise like Pillsbury biscuits, instead they turned out more like soft crackers and tasted a lot like oyster crackers.

I might continue to play with the recipe before I share it here.

Let me know about some of your cooking fails!

Avatar

First time decorating a cake. Note how I tried to smoothen the top ending in a horror that if given to Borden Ramsey would induce a shouting fit, cursing and maybe a heart attack at how hideous it turned out.

Heres the story see I wanted to make a double layered sheet cake with perfect frosting maybe round out the edges then crumble the cake over it as topping.

Hindsight should've used a cake knife to even it out. The moment it broke in two horizontally falling apart nice and crumbley inside I knew I made a mistake.

Now as you can see I expertly glued the parts together with the newly made family recipe peanit butter frosting that my mom- er assistant made.

It is a horror. Now to leave it in the fridge to harden up.

I must also add this was for today 8/6 my 21st b-day. And no I was not drunk. Good first try.

Avatar

LiStEn:

If you ask someone with more cooking experience for help and they say “oh for that dish i don’t use a recipe!! just follow your instincts!!” but you DoN’t have cooking experience and you KNOW FULL WELL your    ~instincts~    are SHITTY TO NONEXISTENT,,, USE A RECIPE!!!!

this brought to you by me fucking up fried rice somehow

Avatar

Culinary crimes

I have a confession to make:

I, Ghost Chance, have committed yet another crime against cooking, and I have once again faced no punishment for it. Allow me to dump my guilty taIe upon you like a murderous and possibly cannibalistic ancient mariner. 

Last week, Cold and I made tacos for dinner. Nothing fancy, just seasoned ground beef, cheese, and lettuce in crunchy shells and tortillas - surely simple enough even I couldn't destroy it. Being the eternal airhead that I am, I got distracted by something shiny when cleaning up and packing away leftovers. I left the cooled and wrapped tortillas on their plate and Cold, wanting to be helpful, put the plate in the fridge as-is. The leftovers had to wait a while, because I caught the local bug the next day.

 Tonight, my throat was finally healed enough for leftovers. I went about warming the meat and asked Cold to retrieve the shells, tortillas, and toppings. He brought me the plate of tortillas with a cringe. "Honey?" he said, "wanna explain this?"

The next few moments were a textbook example of 'laugh because getting pissy solves nothing.' Horrified, I picked up the topmost tortilla. It was stiff as a corn chip, round, and perfectly petrified. I suppressed my impulse to launch it across the kitchen like a frisbee. I am, after all, an adult. (...right? Right.) "Um..." I faltered, gently flexing the edge of the disc. "Maybe it's not too - " The piece in my right hand snapped clean off with the kind of crunch pickle companies advertise and hair stylists dread. I stared at the tortilla and fragment in my hands, wide-eyed, stunned, and silent. "...iyeh?"

Cold. Cracked. Up. 

"Okay, it's toast," I admitted, "but maybe I can fix it!" I sprayed the tortilla with water, put it on a plate, and microwaved it for a short time. Steam belched from the open door when I retrieved the plate, and I held up the tortilla with triumphant hands. "See?" I grinned to Cold, "FIXED!" 

CRACK. That sonuvabitch split right down the middle with an even more pronounced crunch. Cold laughed so hard he stopped breathing. (This is, unfortunately, a common occurrence with him when my "blonde" is showing.) I uttered another small, strangled noise I do not care to spell out, never looking away from my latest cooking crime. The gist of that noise, however, was "well, FUCK."

Friends, strangers, do you know what I did with that pitifully abused flour disc? I piled shredded cheese on the two halves, nuked them, buried them in even more shredded cheese, and nuked them again. Cold and I dared each other to try it and we both ate a piece. Was it good? Meh. Did it kill us? Not sure yet, ask tomorrow.

This is only my latest crime in the kitchen. "Tofu-jerky." "Cheezit-Pizza." "Gastritis-Gravy," "Pesto-Flambe," and even "Jellied Ramen Noodles." (Don't ask. Please don't ask.) I...yeah, if it requires much concentration I can't cook it. 😑 I have never been punished or penalized for any of these culinary crimes, and time and time again, I fall back on my evil ways. My recidivism rate would make any judge sigh and deny parole; instead, I will surely find a way to poison us someday. At least it will be amusing.