20-Minute Meals, With Hillbilly Mom

Here's a bit about our school carry-in dinner we had Thursday and Friday (leftovers). As I mentioned in my 'Egging' post, I was coerced into bringing a vegetable tray and dip. I KNEW people wouldn't eat it. Oh, the Math Crony made a token attempt, because she felt bad that I was talked out of deviled eggs, which I had no intention of bringing anyway. And my 2nd cousin who made the big deal over me not bringing mayo and a loaf of white bread did not even touch my veggies, as far as I could tell. Fie on them! I will never again bow to their peer pressure. That being said, here's some ironic incidents from the dinner.

The meat was ham, provided by the principal, and cooked by the home-ec teacher. Only don't let her hear me call her that. It's FACS, by cracky! But I prefer to get her goat. She's the ParkingSpaceStealer, you know. So we had a lovely baked ham, which I did not consume, because I was just not in the mood for ham. Funny thing...all we had utensil-wise was plastic forks and spoons from the cafeteria. We're not to be trusted with knives, you see. Except for the PasswordDeleter, who flaunts that big butcher knife. Oh, and a Basementia teacher who wears one on her belt. I suppose nobody wants to be the first to question that little Weapon Free School Zone faux pas. Anyhoo...here they were, those ham-eaters, trying to saw bites of ham with plastic forks and spoons. Just think, they could have had some lovely white bread to slap in on, and some mayo to wash it down. As it was, they picked up those ham slices like total barbarians, and gnawed off smaller bits to chew. They shall rue the day they coerced Mrs. Hillbilly Mom into NOT bringing sandwich-makings.

Nobody thought to use Mr. S's rolls to make mini-sandwiches. Those folks are not creative. They keep thinking inside the box. Mr. S further touted his rolls by saying, "Yes. This faculty really enjoys bread. A while back, we had some who wouldn't eat it. The low-carb thing." Yeah. And that never stopped him from bringing bread, either. He just brought less. Mr. S continued winning friends and influencing people by disparaging Math Crony's husband's eggs. He first whispered to me, "I really like your eggs." To Crony, and the table, he announced, "Her eggs are really good. Not that your husband's aren't, but I like hers better. What's that secret ingredient again?" Ahem. Then it would no longer be a secret. But I told him, quietly. And the librarian asked if I would whisper it in her ear. "Hmm," she nodded. "I use Dijon mustard." At least that's what I think she said. I lost interest. I'm not changin' my deviled egg recipe. And if y'all want to know the secret ingredient...it's dill pickle juice. And a lot of black pepper. And MAYO, not salad dressing like Miracle Whip.

Then there was the Hot Wing Dick incident. It's really Hot Wing Dip, but NotACook has that Freudian slip every time she mentions it. (Funny thing, I just typed 'Freudian slop'. Go figure.) I eat that stuff as a main course, not a dip. It's easier to slice than ham. But I have a bone to pick with NotACook. A literal bone. I bit into one while chewing on the Hot Wing Dick. It was the size of half a wishbone. The next day, during leftovers, the librarian got the bone. I told her I had the first bone, and the biggest, so I was the official winner. I hope it's not like a King Cake, Mabel, where the baby-biter has to buy a cake. I don't especially want to furnish a round of Hot Wing Dick.

Later that day, after I promised my crying Pony that I would get him a gift after his Christmas party meltdown, NotACook wrote down the recipe for that Hot Wing Dick. I'm giving it to my sister-the-mayor's-wife for Christmas. Not as a gift. To make for her Christmas Eve dinner. She always has a bevy of spicy stuff. And the recipe began: Boil six chicken breasts. Let them cool. Remove the bones (or leave some in)...She's a regular comedian, that NotACook. She's just not much of a cook.

The final chapter of that carry-in dinner involves dessert. I'm not much for desserts. I prefer savory fare like Mabel's potato-bacon-cheese thingy. But that first day of the carry-in, I spied a container of small muffins. I snatched one up, what with two minutes left until the bell. That 20 minutes is not enough time to fill a plate and eat like a civilized human being. I had a choice of blueberry, something, or lemon. The lemon ones looked so pretty. The store label described them as 'lemon streusel'. I have no idea what that is, but they looked appealing, and I made a snap judgment. That is where I went wrong. When I bit into it, that pretty yellow pastry tasted just like my dishwashing liquid!!! Not that I have ever tasted my dishwashing liquid, mind you. It tasted like my Joy smells.

It was not a just dessert.