The Secret Ingredient

-
When I was little my dad did just about all the cooking for his kids (and dogs).

There were a lot of us. 

I lost count  how many kids there were, because the kids would bring friends home and then some of the kids had kids so there were kids a plenty.

My dad would cook up anything that went a million ways.

I am no stranger to Mac' n Cheese, and Sir Sloppy Joe and our family go way back.  Hamburger Helper was a staple, and eggs fried up with leftover everythings was a mainstay.  There were stews and menudo, albondigas and pieces of bread filled with sandwich meats like bologna and turkey.  If FMV made it, we bought it.

And on everything,

went Tabasco.


I crawled downstairs this morning for an early breakfast of Mac n' Cheese instead of the usual Raisin Bran.  (Must be a sudden pregnancy thing, because I also had to have it for lunch).

I boiled the noodles (okay microwaved them, let's be honest, I'm not Martha Stewart)... and I reached for the milk.  I generously poured in the cheesy packets and black pepper, stirring to just the right non-descript questionable orangey-yellow color.  And just before I grabbed my spoon I grabbed the industrial-sized bottle of Tabasco from the pantry and dashed it along the top.

I always have the big bottle from Costco, because it is the Little Black Dress of my pantry, and goes with almost everything.

Our boring affordable food of yester-year was always razzle-dazzled by daddy's generous Tabasco pouring.  It was like faerie dust.  Our food went from drab to fab.

Kinda.

So I have adopted daddy's almost-famous-kinda-secret ingredient into my own cooking (microwaving).

Today I am a total advocate for adding Tabasco as the secret ingredient to your cooking, as well.  A sprinkle here and a dash there does wonders for the palate and sinuses alike.

But don't try to be a hero- when I say "dash" and "sprinkle" I mean a miniscule amount for you first-timers.

You don't get a tabasco award for using more than that.  You really gotta' ease yourself into it.


Comments

Anonymous said…
Cute!
January 18, 2011 at 4:29 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Dear Bobby"

-
Image
"Dear Bobby, I love you. I always look forward to when my husband leaves for work, and you sneak into bed with me. Sometimes, you will wake me up, but usually, you just lie there next to me waiting for my eyes to open." Bobby. You are a cat. But you are the cat of all cats. Unliked some others whose names I will not mention.... you like being a cat. You are my original Obi Kenobi... But you don't like your name and insist I call you "Bobby" or "Bob". You are my predator. You can catch anything- including a rabbit almost twice your size. I remember the time you brought a baby possum into our home. I had just awakened and sleepily headed to use the bathroom when, peering from inside the toilet, was a little possum begging to be released. You cheeky bastard, Bobby. That poor possum. I scolded you and you just turned the other whisker, as if to say "look lady... I am a cat, that's how I do...." The other cats beg for forgiveness when ...
Read More

The Good Dancer: A Dating Story

-
Image
I once dated a really good dancer. That wasn't his only strength. In truth, he was one of thee absolute best dudes I ever made out with.  He was super funny, smart and we clicked right away. But what struck me as odd was that, for the first time before and since, his good dancing skills didn't turn me off.  (For some reason, a man with too much swagger on the floor has always confused and frightened me a little.)  Oh, and I also don't like when they are so involved in their dancing that they forget you are on the floor with them.  Oh, and when they A. crowd you or B. use you as a prop.  Oh, and when they sing along to songs by female artists.  If you know all the lyrics to "I'm a Slave for You", that's both impressive and embarrassing. (I really did have strange deal-breakers with men...) So here was the first guy who I enjoyed dancing with that was actually a really good dancer.  He didn't crowd.  He didn't sweat profusely.  H...
Read More

Degree

-
Image
It was on Friday night. We laughed a lot, perhaps made delirious by the sweet smell of men that were familiar-yet-elusive and desirable. It could have been the wine,  it could have been the great company of old friends and conversations and shared opinions with other women. I disagreed with Ariel more than once, though... "Too sweet" or.... "smells like a jelly bean...." The ones I couldn't put down were the ones that smelled like a man's deodorant, hidden among 75+ samples that scattered in baskets around the coffee table. There we sat around a table full of scents as we sampled the fragrances from a friend's Scentsy collection, eager to fill out our order forms for the smells that would soon promise to envelop our homes. I opted for the "Iced Pine" option, which always reminds me of the home I have not yet lived in and lingered around the fragrances that smelled of citrus and orange peels.  The idea of the smell of "Orange...
Read More