Johnny Appleseed and the Burnt Applesauce a/k/a Cooking Disaster #259

My first grader celebrated Johnny Appleseed's birthday today. They took a field trip to a theater where they saw a play about Johnny Appleseed. My son was one of a handful of kids chosen to go up on stage and participate.

This afternoon, I went to the classroom and helped with an apple "taste testing" party. Last night and this morning, I had peeled and sliced two pecks of apples (four little white bags of MacIntosh apples to be exact). It took forever even with my apple peeler. I washed, peeled, sliced and bagged five gallon-size Ziploc bags and carted them to school.

I was put in charge of the taste testing table. I washed and sliced six different apples for the 20 students to test and rate on a sheet of paper.

I was also put in charge of making applesauce in a wok sitting on a hot plate in the back of the classroom. I put one bag of the chopped apples in the wok, and they reduced down to applesauce. My fatal mistake was in not removing the first applesauce. I was in a hurry, so I simply added the next bag of chopped apples and went back to the taste testing table.

A few minutes later, I see the teacher run across the room as the smell of burning apples filled the air. I went over to the wok and started to stir the applesauce but the teacher informed me that the applesauce was scorched. However, it wasn't all that bad, and there was enough unscorched applesauce for each student to try. The teacher is going to take the other three bags home to make more applesauce there and bring it back for the kids. That way there wouldn't be any chance that I would f**k it up again.

I have set off smoke detectors with my cooking. I had to throw away pans when I tried to make homemade candy with a candy thermometer. I can't follow a recipe to save my life as witnessed by this old blog post.

My son saw what was going on, slapped his hand on his forehead and shook his head. All the kids had a good time even if the classroom smelled like burned apples.

I haven't been this embarrassed since last year when I lost a third grader at the Minnesota Children's Theater. I turned my back for a minute to get everyone lined up, and this little snot took off. I think I gave that teacher a heart attack.

Some mothers are like Martha Stewart. I am not. But one of these days a teacher is going to want to teach their class to knit, and then they'll come crawling back.

I'm going to my happy place to try and forget about this day.

Musings on the Worst Banana Bread Ever

I am writing this from the straits of destitution found beyond the abyss which is found just past the brink of insanity.  I officially fell into the abyss last night around 10 pm.  

I decided to bake some banana bread from a recipe my neighbor gave me (thanks Michelle!)  My fatal mistake was deciding to bake it while getting the kids ready for bed and trying to watch/listen to the presidential debate.  I was measuring out ingredients when the kids decided that they absolutely had to help me with this.  It was their bedtime, so there was much whining and complaining as I escorted them to bed.  I came back to the recipe and mixed everything together, put it in the bread pan and proceeded to bake it.  After 40 minutes at 350-degrees, I checked on it.  It was soup.  I turned the oven higher and proceeded to bake it longer - still soup after 20 more minutes.  

I believe in my haste to get everything done with the kids hanging on me and the debate on the TV, I used powdered sugar instead of flour.  In a misguided quest for complete organization around here, I recently put all my staples in clear storage containers in the pantry.  Evidently, I didn't take the time to read the label "powdered sugar".  (See what that organized living crap does for you?)  

I decided to try and put two cups of flour in the banana/sugar soup and see what it would do.  I put it back in the oven and baked it for another 40 minutes.  

The result rivals any scientific experiment I've ever seen.  A brown banana blob.  I tried a tiny bit of it.  It was so sweet, I could feel the decay starting to form on my teeth.  I threw the blob in the trash.  

It has left a very strange residue on the metal bread pan.  I may have to throw the pan out too.  (Sadly, it wouldn't be the first time I've ever had to do that.  Ask my husband about a "fudge" incident in the late '80s.)  

But perhaps the weirdest thing I've ever done was when I was ironing out a shirt for my husband back in the days before we had kids.  I could smell popcorn as I was ironing.  I realized that I had accidentally filled the iron with water from a measuring cup that I had used the night before for measuring cooking oil.  I had to throw out my husband's dress shirt and an iron that time.  

Somewhere in the world, Martha Stewart sensed a disturbance in "the force" last night.  She probably wouldn't be able to sleep at night if she knew that there is someone like me out there roaming free and causing all kinds of culinary/housekeeping mayhem.  

Discuss amongst yourselves.