That's David, to you. People from New Jersey (don't call it Joisey, and please stop saying "What exit?") often call each other by the name of their home town. I understand that one of my temple friends is Myrna to some people, but her real name is Springfield.
Call me Plainfield.
Anyway: Way back when my sister was still speaking to the rest of the family, we were in the kitchen after a recipe had proved false. Now, you can trust my recipes. I have eaten all of them, and here I am still writing to you. (Also, as Jim Brooks well knows, when I first started eating this way I was 4 foot 10 and weighed 98 pounds. And now I am 5'9" and tower over everyone [Okay: very young children and my shorter relatives]).
But this recipe was apparently tested on the author's children who, it is said, immediately ran away from home, and possibly some species that promptly became extinct. It was called "Wonderful Old-Fashioned Gingerbread." It was not wonderful. It did not taste like any other gingerbread I have ever had, before or since--possibly because of the yogurt. Maybe it was old-fashioned. It was not allowed to grow old.
Well, wait a minute. The "fashion" in "old-fashioned"--that's not a lie. The recipe actually came from a then-popular cookbook. So it was fashionable. Just not edible.
So I thought, let's just crumble it and add some other things to it and make cookies. At which point my sister, who had only moments ago been reminding me that I must always sit in the middle when we rode in the car with Mommy because if I sat on the end I would fall out, invoked Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #1: "Thou shalt not make cookies from baked cake."
I obeyed. (You try arguing with her. Besides, she might have been right. But that's classified.)
But when I told Tenafly about the Salmon with Pistachio Sauce and he said he didn't like salmon and I said "So substitute chicken," he tried to invoke Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #2 (though he didn't call it that; that was my sister's idea), and proclaimed, "You can't substitute chicken for fish."
And the very French friend of an American friend, after a dinner party for which a chicken had given its life, provided Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #3, letting pass that she "would never serve chicken to my guests." (Rumor has it she somehow managed to eat a fair amount of it, though.)
Fortunately, I have just located my magic wand. I am now waving it, and pronouncing some words in a language very few people speak. But I am a trained professional. And as they say, in a language many people do speak: No charge.
And what do you know? You are now free to substitute chicken for fish, fish for chicken (though you probably won't catch any), serve chicken to your guests, and whatever else comes to mind.
And since we're mostly grown now, I hope it's okay to say that Betty Crocker, lovely as she might have been in that Ozzie and Harriet kind of way, Never Existed.
©2009, 2012, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
Anyway: Way back when my sister was still speaking to the rest of the family, we were in the kitchen after a recipe had proved false. Now, you can trust my recipes. I have eaten all of them, and here I am still writing to you. (Also, as Jim Brooks well knows, when I first started eating this way I was 4 foot 10 and weighed 98 pounds. And now I am 5'9" and tower over everyone [Okay: very young children and my shorter relatives]).
But this recipe was apparently tested on the author's children who, it is said, immediately ran away from home, and possibly some species that promptly became extinct. It was called "Wonderful Old-Fashioned Gingerbread." It was not wonderful. It did not taste like any other gingerbread I have ever had, before or since--possibly because of the yogurt. Maybe it was old-fashioned. It was not allowed to grow old.
Well, wait a minute. The "fashion" in "old-fashioned"--that's not a lie. The recipe actually came from a then-popular cookbook. So it was fashionable. Just not edible.
So I thought, let's just crumble it and add some other things to it and make cookies. At which point my sister, who had only moments ago been reminding me that I must always sit in the middle when we rode in the car with Mommy because if I sat on the end I would fall out, invoked Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #1: "Thou shalt not make cookies from baked cake."
I obeyed. (You try arguing with her. Besides, she might have been right. But that's classified.)
But when I told Tenafly about the Salmon with Pistachio Sauce and he said he didn't like salmon and I said "So substitute chicken," he tried to invoke Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #2 (though he didn't call it that; that was my sister's idea), and proclaimed, "You can't substitute chicken for fish."
And the very French friend of an American friend, after a dinner party for which a chicken had given its life, provided Betty Crocker's Unwritten Rule #3, letting pass that she "would never serve chicken to my guests." (Rumor has it she somehow managed to eat a fair amount of it, though.)
Fortunately, I have just located my magic wand. I am now waving it, and pronouncing some words in a language very few people speak. But I am a trained professional. And as they say, in a language many people do speak: No charge.
And what do you know? You are now free to substitute chicken for fish, fish for chicken (though you probably won't catch any), serve chicken to your guests, and whatever else comes to mind.
And since we're mostly grown now, I hope it's okay to say that Betty Crocker, lovely as she might have been in that Ozzie and Harriet kind of way, Never Existed.
©2009, 2012, 2014, 2015 Laynie Tzena.
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