Have I mentioned that I can’t do anything right anymore? My big plans for fabulous food this weekend are not off to a good start.
I don’t know if I ever mentioned that my daughter gave me a butter lamb mold for Christmas. I pulled it out today with the intention of making some herb butter and then possibly some beet juice butter to mold up and accompany the commercial butter lamb that Sami brought home this wee. Can you picture it? A whole flock of diverse butter lambs. Teaching the world to sing. Apple trees and honeybees.
But I digress.
The herbed butter lamb has a big pock mark on its face and now I don’t feel like making beet juice butter. I had big plans to smash Keller’s grip on the global butter lamb market but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen now.
In other news, this is how you have two bossy cooks working at the same time: an annex kitchen. You are looking at a FryDaddy and a FryBaby in simultaneous action:
I thought I threw that plastic tablecloth out years ago and I would a have pitched a fit about it now except should see the get-up he’s got on do do his outdoor cheffing. He walked into the kitchen wearing one of my old scrub jackets from pre-1998. And he brazenly admitted that he found it when he was cleaning out the garage. It was white at one time but now it has various spreading stains on it from an unattended decade and a half in a cardboard box.
Two steps forward, one step back. I don’t know. Everything is going wrong.