I have issues. I'm a people pleaser and I long for approval when it comes to my cooking which can be a sanctifying combination with six children living in my house. My husband could be the easiest to please. He's just thankful that I've cooked something so his appreciation comes as easily as opening a box.
Approval has been especially hard to come by lately, though, when two of those children are teenagers who have a momma that can cook like nobody's business. She can't take care of them but man can she cook. Sorry, that was rude. They actually called her one day so she could tell me how to make something. Humbling to say the least.
I have fried more cuts of meat than I ever thought possible and many without great success. Last night I made fried catfish for the first time ever with the help of my daughter Olivia. (She's reading this over my shoulder insisting she gets credit.) It actually turned out really well and I was excited to have tackled yet another vat of oil with one small victory.
On a side note, there is apparently a way to convert a diesel engine to run on used vegetable oil. At the rate I'm going, I could supply the oil for a small school bus to take my kids to school. Hmmm.
The other morning, I made breakfast and thought I had received the greatest insult so far. The boys said, "Mama Melissa, oooh, you put your foot in this! I mean you put your big toe in and stirred it all around."
"Is that bad?"
"What? You never told your momma she put her foot in something?"
"It means it's really good!"
Whew! What a relief.
So, if you're ever in the neighborhood and want to stop by for breakfast. Come on in.
I make some mean Malt-O-Meal.