What’s For Dinner?

What's For Dinner?

{Image courtesy of digitalart / FreeDigitalPhotos.net}

Let’s be honest here: for the first 10 years of our marriage, I didn’t cook.


My husband did most of the cooking; he enjoyed doing it, and he was good at it. I, however, was a horrible cook…and the usual products of my time in the kitchen was a pot of Hamburger Helper, canned green beans, or boxed mac n’ cheese. It was truly sad.


After we moved, and made the decision for me to be a SAHM for a while, I dove headlong into learning how to be domesticated. For a while, we existed on the usual crap that I burned made. Then I discovered a recipe site, and I learned that even I could follow a recipe to the letter (even if it took me 45 minutes longer than a normal person.)


The number of dishes I could make expanded, and shocker! Most of them were actually tasty. I learned how to plan menus during this time, and at least once a week, I tried out a new recipe.


One week, I decided to make chicken enchiladas. I’m pretty sure I’d let Stouffers make them for us before, and they tasted wonderful. I was so excited about making them! I made my list and I went to the grocery store to buy 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 started in the kitchen. 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 offered to help me get it done. I spooned the mix into the tortillas, 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 fine. (Note to self: if it smells funky 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 alright.”


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 chicken and cheese and whatever the heck else was in there (the part that I made, by the way) tasted fine. I just need to put that out there right here and now. It was the dang 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 tortillas, and there was literally no getting away from the stuff. But I watched as he attempted to eat a few more 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.

{I would like to point out that since this cooking disaster happened, I have actually become a fairly good cook…and found a much better, more edible recipe for chicken enchiladas.}

Mama’s Losin’ It


9 thoughts on “What’s For Dinner?

  1. This is a funny story! Did you ever make that again?
    We’ve been married 15 years and I still don’t cook! My husband doesn’t either. We buy ready made stuff at Giant Eagle, eat out once a week and manage just fine with the microwave and refrigerator.

  2. Pingback: Friday Favorites 3/29 | A Life So Lovely

  3. Very funny story! I would have loved to have seen you scraping the taste off your tongue! (Though I have to admit I’m a bit bitter with jealousy because you have a husband that cooks!)

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