I mean, seriously!
I started dinner at 5:00, hoping to have it done by 6:15-6:30 when my husband was going to get home from work. When 6:00 rolled around, however, and all I had done was prepare the vinegar/wine reduction for a bernaise sauce (that never even ended up getting made), chop some asparagus, melt some butter, and nurse and get an 8 month old down for an evening nap, it was clear to me that this whole escapade was going to be a lot more difficult than I had originally anticipated!
Dinner actually got served around 7:40pm, and that wouldn't have even happened if it hadn't been for the help of my husband to hold our fitster (aka Lion Cub) while he was flipping the potatoes, reminding me that the asparagus was, in fact, still in the oven, and subsequently handling the total breakdown (complete with ugly weeping) that I had somewhere between melting more butter and tying the bacon around the fillet mignon (which he ended up doing as well!). Poor man, there it was his birthday and he had to deal with all of this damage control!
I reiterate- you are a
In the end, despite all the craziness, the dinner did manage to make it on the table without being burnt or thrown out the window. And even though I swore to my husband that I didn't want to actually obtain my own copy of that blasted cookbook until my children had graduated from high school, the food really was delicious. Honestly though, how could it not be after being cooked in all that butter?!
Suffice it to say, by the end of my French-feeling day I no longer felt French at all. In fact, I felt very American! That's okay though, it was nice while it lasted and at least now I can say that I attempted the art of French cooking-mastering it will just after wait for another day!
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