Nichole gave me a truffle today. A chocolate raspberry Lindor Truffle.
She is now my enemy.
This morning I had the most disgusting breakfast I have had in awhile. Even worse than the so-called “Stuffed French Toast” my husband, (who I will start calling by his name because I am tired of typing “my husband”) Jordan, refused to eat, but more on that in a few. My sister gave me a breakfast time tip: Oatmeal. Remind me not to thank her. Last night, I diligently measured out my oatmeal, 1 Tablespoon raisins and 1 Tablespoon brown sugar. Everything was neatly arranged on the counter and the pot was ready to boil water.
I set my alarm to get up early to cook the oatmeal and enjoy a real breakfast at the table, maybe with a magazine and a cup of tea with Splenda, water. One minute before I need to leave to make it to work on time, I throw the magazine on the couch, grab my purse, and lug a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of water (fate knew I would need this) to the car. With minimal water spillage, I make it to the car and get settled. I eat my breakfast in front of the wheel while driving, a dangerous habit I have fallen into to get that five extra minutes of sleep.
The first bite made me want to turn around, go back home, and call in sick. I just CAN’T do oatmeal without a heap of creamy butter. I thought the raisins and brown sugar would help out, but I was dread wrong. It was what I imagine “gruel” would taste like. The food Jane Eyre had to eat at Lowood, the meal Oliver Twist was served; the stuff of nightmares. But I certainly would NOT be saying, “Please, sir, can I have some more.”
It was so very dry and bland. I prayed every bite would contain a raisin, just for a little hint of something other than blaaah. And you know a prayer for raisins must be a desperate one. I thought it would get better “once I got used to it”, but alas, it didn’t, but I finished it. I had to psych myself up and it took me several tries to swallow that last bite. I looked for somewhere to spit it, but in a moving car, you don’t have many options. I just kept repeating, “Just swallow it. Just swallow it. You are a grown woman. You can do this!” You know me, I can’t waste food, no matter how disgusting it is. All that, and I was still hungry an hour and a half later.
Nichole’s truffle laughs in my face. I put it in my desk draw, where it can’t taunt me a second time.
On a positive note, I discovered these round flat bread things that you use for sandwiches instead of bread. (Thanks, Julia!) There are several different kinds and we got Honey Wheat. 1 point! So I can make a sandwich with that bread, 6 slices deli meat, and all the veges I want, for 2 points. I can add a slice of Provolone for an additional point. Makes it a lot easier to indulge on other things. Like Banana Bread with Reese PB Cups. (I just started salivating again. Oh! And I just realized that we are going over to Eryka’s tomorrow for dessert! I can only pray…)
The Stuffed French Toast I mentioned earlier was a disaster. Julia Child would have been so disappointed. It took me forever to make, too. (See David, I used to proper spelling of “too”.) I had to slice up French bread, layer it with cream cheese, strawberry preserves and slices of strawberries. Then I put more bread on top, and pour this egg/milk/something else I can’t remember mixture over it and let it sit over night. I got up at 7 a.m. on my day off (!) to bake it before church.
Now bread pudding is one thing, but this was a whole ‘nother animal. Soggy. Tasteless. Soggy. Did I mention tasteless? Not AT ALL like the gorgeous picture below. I followed the recipe exactly. So I don’t know what happened. I choke my FIVE wasted points down, Jordan took one bite and made that “please don’t hate me, but you have failed” face, and my son wouldn’t even consider taking a bite. The rest of it sat in the frig until I schlopped it out of the pan and into the garbage a week later. I can’t believe I wasted all those lovely strawberries, a whole pack of cream cheese, and a loaf of beautiful French bread. Live and learn they say. In this case, also throw the recipe in the shredder.
See? Doesn’t that look heavenly?! But I assure you, it is most definitely from the other direction. I should have taken a pic of my bread soup with strawberries to add next to it. But I might have lost all my readers. 🙂 I’ll be nice and not post where I got the recipe from.
Lesson learned: Sandwich for 2-3 points with weird flying-saucer fake bread.
I got a tape recorder to record notes on. I feel so professional now. If only someone would type it all out for me. But that’s half the fun, I guess. I don’t always have pen and paper to jot down notes on, like when I’m in the car (though I do have an entire dining set in there) so I thought a tape recorder would be great. I was laying in bed the other night and thought of a two week trial that would be GOLDEN, I mean real literary genius. I was sure I would remember it in the morning, but no. No recollection at all. So… tape recorder. Goes with me every where now.
I turned it on tonight to take down my notes and halfway through my recording, I heard my wonderful, loving, comedic husband’s (who is at work right now, thankfully for him) voice come on. “Note to self: next two week trial: Stop wearing those granny panties and try something sexy.”
In my defense, I like comfortable cotton panties. There is nothing wrong with that. And there is nothing “granny” about them. They are very practical and sensible. Don’t worry. He’ll pay. I’ll show him granny panties.
Bonus lesson learned: Hide tape recorder from “I’m so witty, nah nah nah” husband while you shower.