Since I, uh, really just started cooking about 6 months ago…my worst dinner experience is pretty recent.
As in just a few weeks ago. The taste is seared into my memory, because it was THAT bad.
I decided to make enchiladas. I’m pretty sure I Stouffers had made them before, and they tasted wonderful. I was excited about making them! So the the worst day of the week Monday before I made them, I went to the grocery store and bought all the fixins.
I realized later that the can of enchilada sauce that I had bought was a good bit bigger than the one the recipe called for. That’s okay, I thought…I just won’t use all of it. No big.
So, enchilada night arrived. I got everything going. For reasons I can’t remember but probably related to Diva drama, I was running a little late with dinner. JB got home halfway through, so he decided to help me get it done. I spooned the mix into the tortilla shells, he rolled them up (because I’m not coordinated enough to manage this task without dumping crap all over the floor), and once they were all in the dish, he opened the can of enchilada sauce. The thought of not using the entire can had, of course, completely left my blonde brain.
I saw JB wrinkle his nose when he opened the can. He said he thought once it was all cooked it would be okay. (Note to self: if it smells fawnky before you cook it, chances are you should move on to Plan B right then and there.) Then I turned around just in time to see JB pouring THE ENTIRE CAN of sauce over the enchiladas. I said NO! Not the the whole thing! He was all Oops, it’ll be okay.
Okay…if you say so.
Fast forward about 20 minutes. Timer goes off, enchiladas are done. I pulled them out of the oven, let them cool off a little, then got everything on the table. Monkey was the first person I saw take a bite. His face looked a little odd, but he kept chewing, swallowed, and said nothing. Diva, as usual, was still deciding if she was going to eat at all. JB took a bite, and then I took a bite.
DUUUUUUDE. I never even chewed. The taste was so horrendous that I opened my mouth and spit it back out, and then tried to wipe my tongue with my napkin to hopefully get rid of the rest of the offensive mess. I literally have NEVER done that before. Stellar example for the children, I tell ya.
JB looked at me, and then started tearing his enchilada apart. The meat and cheese and whatever the heck else was in there (the part that I made, BTW) tasted fine. I just need to put that out there right here and now. It was the damn enchilada sauce that tasted like dirt in a tobacco field. (not that I know what that tastes like, that was all JB’s description, so I went with it. Why do I keep trusting this man about these stupid enchiladas??) So JB said, “You can just scrape off the sauce and eat the rest.” I think at this point, he was still trying to get the kids to EAT THE FOOD THAT WAS PUT BEFORE THEM like we are always harping at them.
I just stared at him. He had poured so much of that sauce on there, it had seeped into the shells, and there was literally no getting away from the stuff. But I watched as he tried to eat a few bites of it.
Then, almost simultaneously, we both said, “McDonald’s? Let’s go.”
When we told my family about the story, my brother the comedian, said: “Mexican food, made by a white boy. What could possibly go wrong?”
It’s the sauce, man. The Sauce.