Oh, Olgas

Many of my Invisible Friends are wonderful cooks. They can bake, they can create sourdough starters and cakes that look like something off the food network.

I can make rice krispie treats and cookies.

Well, to be truthful I cook dinner almost every night. It's just my cooking tends to be "follow the instructions and pray you don't forget anything important" cooking. Sometimes, I can attempt a new recipe and have it come out wonderfully. Otherwise, I'll omit ingredients due to taste, refusal to buy a $13 bottle of something I can't pronounce or sheer forgetfulness. And then the creation that should have been phenomenal is merely edible.

It happens a lot.

So did I just set aside a piggie bank and hope one day it might be filled with enough to hire a personal chef?

Nope. I tried to recreate Olgas, the flat bread from the restaurant I raved about in a earlier entry (http://aduckinherpond.blogspot.com/2008/05/olgas.html.) Chaos and hilarity ensued.

Cooking buddies, this is for you.

First, I mixed up all the ingredients. Then I greased a bowl and dumped everything in it. I left it alone for about three hours so it could rise.

Then Ben discovered it. And that's when I lost control.

Deciding the stove would be a perfect workplace, he sprinkled flour all over it. The Babies hovered around his feet anxiously, praying that whatever delicious creation he was working with would drop out of his hands and into their mouths.

Then he decided that instead of the instructed eight olgas, he would make nine. He had the audacity to calm them gyros.

They're not gyros. They're olgas. There's honey in the batter. Gyros don't have honey.

Waving off my offers of assistance, he waited impatiently until I wiped off the stove and set about to cooking them in a skillet. Some time later, we had nine delicious Olgas that tasted just like the original.

It took two or three olgas before Ben felt that he had properly tested them. I piled mine with turkey, bacon and cheese, while he preferred to eat them plain. After his third olga, Ben was forced to retire to bed. The rest were shoved in the freezer for his own safety.

I'm just happy I didn't burn them or destroy them in anyway. And I'm delighted I have my childhood olgas back, safely hidden at the bottom of the freezer behind the ice cream.

( I never said I liked to share.)

Next Sunday: Pocket pies!