Those food failures ... beware!

A Group blog by 5 Women Mayhem 

 

Ooops, puppy 

 

By JoAnne Young

 

As Thanksgiving approaches, a holiday focused around food, family and guests gathered around our tables, we couldn’t help but remember the mayhem that can occur when baking mishaps or trying to recreate a beloved mother’s recipe, or mindful consumption or pets intersect in the kitchen. 

 

Food calamities happen ... not just on the holidays but year round. Like the time my daughter Elizabeth and her then boyfriend, later husband, Adam, were preparing a meal for another couple centered around a pork tenderloin. They wrapped it in prosciutto and left the kitchen for a few minutes to work on another project for a friend. When they returned, the pork tenderloin had disappeared and their wheaten terrier Bueller was skulking away, guilty-faced but likely smiling with content on the inside. 

Not a great day for them, but "we still refer to that as the  best day of Bueller's life," my daughter told me.

We've all had them, those kitchen calamities. Here are a few of ours. 

Pecan pie bars -- an epic failure 

By Marilyn Moore

 

Three of us were planning a morning brunch to introduce friends to a candidate whose election

we’re supporting. One friend specializes in scones. The second specializes in muffins. I chimed

in that I would bring bars, 7-layer and pecan pie bars. Their eyes lit up at “pecan pie bars,” so I

knew it was a good idea. Not that I’ve baked pecan pie bars, but I’ve made pecan pies for

years, and I have my mom’s recipe for bars, so what could go wrong?

 

My mom was an excellent cook, and an excellent baker. She tired of both in her later years, a

reality I now understand up close and personal, but I have many of her recipes, and they’re

time-tested and always good. I found the recipe…there it is, in her own handwriting, such a

treasure…and I remember eating these bars when she made desserts for family gatherings and

church dinners. Easy to read, easy to prepare, all familiar ingredients, home free.

 

I’d looked at several pecan pie bar recipes, and they’re all basically the same. Make a bottom

layer of some combination of flour, sugar, and shortening, and bake it. Mix the top layer, some

combination of sugar, eggs, butter, pecans, syrup, and pour it over the baked bottom layer.

Bake some more.

 

So I did. Following Mom’s recipe, I baked the bottom layer for 10 minutes. I poured the top layer over, put it back in the oven, and set the timer for 50 minutes, at which time the center should be “set.” At 50 minutes, the center was not only not set, it was still sloshing around in the pan. After another 40 minutes, a thin crust was beginning to form, so I took the pan out of

the oven, hoping it would continue to thicken and set as it cooled.

 

It was not to be. The next morning, spooning out one bite from the corner of the pan was like

dipping into maple syrup with floating pieces of pecans. Maybe a topping for ice cream, but

this was never going to be a pan of pecan pie bars.

 

I dumped it all and made a second pan of 7-layer bars. My biggest regret is not the epic baking failure, but the realization (again) that I can no longer give Mom a call and ask for her advice.

 

A memorial to Larry the Lobster

 

By Mary Kay Roth

 

Our mistake was giving him a name. I’m sure that’s when the real trouble started.

 

But of course we need to start from the very beginning, a simple job assignment when I was a features reporter at the Journal Star.

 

In those days we took turns writing various kinds of stories, and this was my turn on the food rotation. I was to buy a live lobster, prep it, boil it and serve it, something I had never done before.

 

Now, for those who don’t know me well, you need to understand I have a kind heart and a tender soul – for pretty much all creatures (except maybe cockroaches). So, the agony commenced immediately when my two young kids and I went to purchase a live lobster – knowing the poor guy would be doomed. 

 

We forged on, nonetheless, choosing a lobster, bringing him home and naming him Larry – as I recall, borrowed from a character in SpongeBob SquarePants.

Per recipe instructions, I started a huge pot of boiling water and took the ill-fated fellow out of the fridge – still thriving and waving his claws.

 

I was heartbroken.

 

But feeling the diligence of a good reporter, I dropped Larry into the steaming water and literally sobbed as the poor fellow bubbled and boiled.

 

Eventually he was cooked to perfection, but alas we knew Larry too well. In fact, these days there is growing research that boiling live lobsters is inhumane and the process is banned in several countries.

 

So, on that fateful day we said a quiet prayer, refused to eat Larry and promised we’d never forget him. We never have.

 

The Smoking Cake

 

By Karla Lester 

 

Especially during the holidays, food drama is a broad category because it’s often enmeshed with

family drama. Most of the holiday food drama I’ve experienced in my life is due to differing

beliefs, even gender stereotypes around food. Food, the menu planning, preparation, even for

straightforward holidays like Thanksgiving, can get weaponized. Now, wait a second. I may be

slow on the uptake, but after a few decades of navigating holidays with the same people, the light

bulb is going off. 

 

This drama may not be about the food.

 

There’s a lot of differing beliefs about food waste. Some of the family wants to make sure

everyone has plenty and can have leftovers ad infinitum. Better love turkey in that house. Others

challenge themselves to rise to a Goldilocks occasion and make just the right amount. 

 

Food is tricky and yes, dramatic at times, especially when you have the drama of a food flop like

the case of the ex-boyfriend and The Smoking Cake.

 

Let me preface this true crime. You should know, in my defense, I’m a good cook because it’s

something I love to do. I’m not a good baker. I have specific items I can do like cookies and

quick bread and Ooey Gooey Butter Cake about once a year. But never and I repeat never ask me

to make you a pie or a cake. That would be at your peril. 

 

Back to the case of the ex-boyfriend and The Smoking Cake. Saying I have an ex-boyfriend

implies that I have a current one.  I do not. 

 

So, I decided to make my ex a cake for his birthday. It had been going on our sixth or seventh

year of no commitment. I lost count. I got the recipe for from scratch chocolate cake and

marshmallow frosting. Yum! Hopes are up at this point. My ex couldn’t commit to giving me a

ring, but I could commit to serving him this cake, no matter what.

 

Too many microbiology classes in medical school meant I cook the s**t out of most items. You

won’t get salmonella, but you may need an extra glass of water to choke that turkey down your

gullet. 

 

Making the batter went swimmingly. I had to improvise because I lived in a studio apartment and

didn’t have a lot of kitchen paraphernalia. I realized I had only one cake pan. No problem. I

baked the first layer and took it out of the oven to cool. Still no problem. I dumped the layer onto

a plate to continue cooling and went on to bake the second layer in the cake pan. I didn’t realize

that I put the plate near the electric burner that I had been cooking on. 

“This cake is on fire.” 

 

I looked over to see that the plate had cracked, and flames were coming up out of the cake. I was

able to get the flames out calmly with a tea towel. I was in medical school. Perhaps trauma

surgery would be a good fit. But, now what? I decided to let the cake cool off after it had been on

fire. Then, I could reassess. There was no internet and certainly no YouTube for how to salvage a

burnt cake back in the 90’s. I needed to improvise. How bad could it be? I decided to let the ex

be the judge of that. 

 

I carefully cut off ⅓ of the bottom of the cake layer, believing I had removed all the burned bits.

 

I put the top layer on and then after cooling, I frosted the cake with you guessed it, overcooked

marshmallow frosting. It turned out to be a crunchy shell you could knock on. 

 

When the ex came over, we had a nice dinner and then it was time for The Smoking Cake. I

didn’t say a word to him because I didn’t want to spoil his birthday and thought he most likely

wouldn’t notice the cake had been on fire. The ex couldn’t catch a hint to buy me a big old

diamond ring. I was sure he wouldn’t catch onto the cake drama.

 

Boy, was I ever wrong. I watched his face with a mix of anticipation and dread as he bit into the

cake. He dramatically, which I really feel was over the top, spit out the whole bite and

exclaimed, “This tastes like smoke!”

 

“That’s because it was on fire. Sorry.” 

 

It’s too late for me, but you may be able to save your burnt cake. 

 

According to the AI overview:

To fix a burnt cake, carefully trim the burnt edges with a knife or grater, then use frosting or

syrup to cover any remaining imperfections. Prevent future burnt cakes by ensuring the oven

temperature is accurate, placing the cake on the center rack, using the correct pan, and not

overfilling the pan.  

Here's a pic of me in my Girlboss Birthday era with the from scratch chocolate cake and marshmallow frosting, how it was supposed to turn out. 

A little mayhem in the kitchen. We'd love to hear about yours. -- 5 Women Mayhem