WURST PLACE. Ding!

I remember eating one particular late night dinner my mom made, and it was so disgusting that I legitimately wondered if she was secretly a witch.

One of my favorite children’s books growing up is titled Sarah’s Unicorn, by Bruce and Katherine Coville, in which Sarah’s aunt is cursed and does everything badly including cooking disgusting food.
So from this book is how I drew my conclusion about my mom, a decade (dare I say or two?) ago. In hindsight, if my mom only ever cooked one disgusting meal in my whole 29 years of life, I’d say she’s a pretty excellent cook.

As I sat with my three children tonight, eating what is most likely the winner of the Puke of Fame Dinner Award, I saw the other side of the Witch’s Brew Theory perspective.

Maybe Momma only had a can o’ beans, a can o’ cream of mushroom, 4 strips of nearly burnt bacon and some rice, mixed together, coated with a melange of feta and cheddar cheese knowing for certain it would taste supremo.

No. Supre-no.
No, no, no, that’s just the recipe for witch’s brew.  And I will not provoke your gag reflex by posting a picture of such a treasure.  But rest assured, I did photograph it.  Chronic picture taker here, for better and for worse.  I’ll add that I’m the only one who ate the dish wishing not to waste the ingredients, and was sent running to the bathroom while Countertop Climber, Collin John Paul, ascended the mount and quietly played with and amongst the burning Advent Candles.

On a different note, but since we’re talking of feeding the little peeps and glowy, fuzzy moments:
Craig learned last night that challenging our oldest one to a Who Can Finish His Dinner Faster Contest is not the prime route to take if you do not wish to view the Encore:
Dinner exiting the mouth much faster than it went in.

Also, the only clean utensils in the house right now: salad forks. With which I now stir my tea.

DING!