Yumm-oh good Lord...

We'll stick with the theme of throwing sis under the bus, only because it's so easy.

Yesterday I wrote about baking and how sis wasn't exactly spot on when it came to uniformity, edibility and presentation. Although I will say she has picked up a few culinary skills over the years I can't help but tell a couple of her best - or should I say worst - kitchen conundrums. For the record, she can cook and it's normally quite tasty.

Call these a glitch in common sense (I say glitch because most of the time she has it). Of course, who is to say my mental state would be different if I had to teach all day.


A little dippy
I get a phone call one night in from a Hays grocery store after a long week.

Sis: Uh, how do you make guacamole?

Me:Go to the deli and buy it.

Sis: No, no, I want to make it. I have a seasoning pack, but I don't know how to buy or cut up a guacamole.

Me: Why do you need to cut up dip that's already made.

Sis: It's not already made, I want to make it myself.

Me: Uh, I'm not following.

Sis: How do you pick out a guacamole, I want to make my own.

Me: (After a pause) You mean avocados?

Sis: No, guacamolies (obviously it's not a word so spelling escapes me). I want to make it.

Me: Guacamole is mashed up avocados. They're green and you split them open, pop the pit out and scoop them out before you mash it and add the seasoning.

Sis: Yeah, that's what I want to do.

Stirred, not whipped
Again, a phone call from Hays.

Sis: I'm making brownies and the box says 100 strokes, do I have to count them.

Me: Uh, what?

Sis: Do I have to count 100 strokes? What happens if I stir it more than 100 strokes?

Me: The box actually says that?

Sis: Yeah, what do I do?

Me: Stir it till it's mixed and dump it in the pan. It's not rocket science.

A little rare
When my sister and I lived together we shared cooking responsibilities and nine times out of 10 whatever she made was really good - but there was one time it was a little less than perfect.

I had walked in the kitchen to see her standing at the stove over a skillet and as I peered in it looked like a mass of goo. "Uh, what is that?" I asked.

"Hamburger gravy, why?" she said in a little defensive tone, as to say - you don't like it starve - I think she may have inherited that from Mom. I just stared into the pan trying to figure out why it looked like a cross between oatmeal and Play-Doh. "What?!"

"Um, you're supposed to cook the hamburger all the way through before you add flour and milk."

"It's fine!" she said and kept stirring, "it'll be fine."

I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't fine.It did turn edible, but it was not fine.