I can't cook. There. I said it. Now the whole world knows. I have a lot of skills. I can do a lot of things. I'm very talented. I can even cross one eyeball at a time. But I can't cook.
Oh, I try. I have a small list of basic meals I can throw together and we somehow survive. You know like pot roast, meatloaf, pork chops, hamburger helper. Thing is, all the more fancy meals seem like such a huge waste of time. And then there's all the clean up after. I have better things to do with my time. The real problem is that I never learned how to cook in the first place. My Mom was of the same mindset and never cooked a lot either. But I married into a family of cooking women. It's so bad my sister-in-law bought me The Complete Idiot's Guide to 20-Minute Meals one year for Christmas (which I love).
But occasionally I get the urge to move out of my 20-minute comfort zone and try something new. Seems like every year about this time I get the hankering for homemade bread. My mother-in-law can whip out a batch of bread in her sleep. In fact that's all they ever eat. I've watched her make it and so I basically know what it's supposed to look like when it's done.
This is not what it's supposed to look like. I'm pretty sure it was supposed to rise.
Every year, in the fall, I try to bake bread. Every year it fails miserably, I feed it to the chickens and then give up. But not this year. Nope. This year I don't care if it costs me $847 in baking supplies, by golly I'm going to make a loaf of whole wheat bread. I'll keep you posted.