7pm Friday night. Clean house; clean laundry. Company won’t be here for another three hours. Let’s…try a new recipe!
I love variations. This is notable mainly because I hate decision making. I love, however, the idea of making decisions, so this recipe, which appeared in the December issue of Southern Living, is one I wanted to try. One scone recipe, eight variations – four sweet and four savory. For my first try, I picked the scone featuring a spice I’d almost completely given up*, a fruit I hadn’t eaten in at least a decade, and a dairy product I hadn’t fully committed to. Those are the scones; this is my story:
With the internet and its never-ending supply of recipes, I somehow excel in choosing the ones that require “hands on” prep, which isn’t good for someone like me, who is a “clean hands, put away between adding ingredients” person. The finished product is almost never how it should be, thanks to something having to sit longer than necessary, or not being blended in quickly enough, or what have you. Also, if I’m going to be sharing the food with someone else, I always feel obliged to say “Hey! Hey. Um. I don’t know if it matters to you or not, but I touched 98% of that dish.” Bon appetit!
While making tonight’s scones (which were, once I had the ingredients sorted out, very quick and easy to make) I realized two things:
1. I don’t understand pears. I understand the canned fruit cocktail kind, you know, the ones that are the same color and texture as the peeled grapes. Going into the recipe, I knew that bringing my knowledge of canned pears to the table would be like someone saying they preferred canned peaches. Oh, what an insult! CANNED peaches aren’t peaches. I don’t know what they are, but I’ve NEVER seen peaches that color or texture OR taste, and I have seen a peach in my day (mister!). Anyway. Back to pears. I had to chop (finely chop) one and I don’t get it. I made a funny first cut and the middle wasn’t really in the middle and then there wasn’t anything at the bottom and…I don’t understand pears (and owls are a waste of time).
2. You know what someone who doesn’t eat cheese never thinks about until they need it? A cheese grater. So you should buy your non-cheese-eating friends cheese graters for their next birthdays. They might look at you funny at first, but there will come a time – a time when they aren’t huddled over a measuring cup with a block of cheese and a vegetable peeler, wondering how to keep their fingertips, knuckles, and dignity – when they will thank you.
*thanks to the great catering catastrophe of ’06