We had spaghetti for dinner last night. My thought as I was driving home post-work was what a cute post I can write describing how spaghetti night with two toddlers also means bath night. The night didn’t go as planned.
My cooking spaghetti was more a comedy of errors than a fun family meal. I started the sauce first which I make myself preferring it to the can or jar found on a grocery store shelf. It is my mom’s recipe which I have tweaked simply because I tweak all recipes I use. I have this weird idea that if I tweak a recipe I am actually cooking instead of just mixing ingredients.
I browned the hamburger meat. Seasoned. Added the tomato sauce and paste. Seasoned. Grabbed the sugar (I always had a little just to sweeten) but I was talking to my daughter and did not look. FLOUR. I started to put flour in my sauce. I then proceeded to spoon out the glob of flour sitting in a sea of red. Sugar. I add sugar questioning if I got all of the flour. I splash some sauce on the flat top while stirring and use my finger to wipe it up. OUCH!! The burner is hot. Because. I. Am. Cooking.
I run cold water over my finger. I recognize that smell. The sauce is burning (told you it was hot). I remove the pan. Stir and remove burnt pieces into the trash. Daughter, “It’s okay mommy, you burnt the chicken last time and that was still good.” Apparently I do this often. Next, noodles without incident, while they are cooking. Place colander in sink and pour noodles. Colander falls over. Loose number of noodles. Breathe. Bowl. Plate. Make it to the table. Laugh…forgot the Texas Toast.
This is why I request take out for dinner on Monday nights.