I had the bright idea this morning to make waffles with my handy dandy waffle iron. I thought I had waffle mix. I did not. My mom said "Just use Bisquick, its the same thing". For the record, NOT TRUE. I also thought it would be a great idea to put chocolate chips in the batter as well as substitute vegetable oil with coconut oil (which is the cure for cancer I'm convinced, but I'll save that for another blog). Let's just say my intentions were well meant.
I followed the recipe on the back of the Bisquick box. Looked good, smelled good. Poured the batter onto the waffle iron grid. Nice and thick, perfect! Lid down. I watched the batter ooze and gooze out the sides and onto the counter (I could hear my mother's head exploding) and went about making the bacon. A few minutes later, I raised up the lid excited to see my waffle creation. It looked like someone had vomited up flies. Sooo not what a waffle should look like. OK, well, shit. I got the Bisquick box back out and noticed that the only difference between waffles and pancakes was 1 egg. Cool. I put another egg in my batter and got out the pancake pan. I pushed the waffle iron aside.
I brought out a nice plate of pancakes with butter and syrup accompanied by crisp bacon out to Ma. She was nice and ate one, but the look on her face resembled that of a 6 year old who desperately wanted to spit the broccoli back out onto to their plate and go back outside and play, but if they did they would be punished and sent to their room.
She excused herself from the table and spent the next hour cleaning my waffle iron mumbling something about going OUT for dinner. Okay, so it wasn't my best culinary moment. Bisquick blows.
Dinner at Claim Jumper. Cath, Ma and myself went out for a tasty meal. Afterward, we all ordered dessert. I had the mini English toffee cake (yum!) and Cath and Ma split an eclair. I laughed because both of them are skimpy eaters and the damn thing was the size of a watermelon. Watching them share it was...how should I say this...like watching the female version of "Grumpy Old Men". My mom went right for the custard inside with a spoon, as Cath just forked off pieces at her end. By the time they got to the middle I watched Cath's brow furrow as she tilted her head sideways with a WTF look and exclaimed "You excavated all the custard out!" The only thing missing was a comma and the word "asshole" after that sentence. LOL They bantered back and forth about it for several minutes. It was better than Comedy Central, I tell ya.
And that was my excitement for the weekend. There was NO FOOTBALL at our house. I read most of the day instead.