Worst culinary disasters

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
101

As a public service, I now share MY mac and cheese recipe

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

1 lb pasta (elbows, shells, or whatever - just not noodle shaped)

3 Tbsp butter
1/4 Cup finely chopped white or yellow onion
3 Tbsp flour
2 Cups milk
1 Tsp ground mustard
Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
1 cup shredded swiss cheese
Dash cayenne pepper
Salt and white pepper to taste

Butter the insides of a 2 1/2 qt glass casserole pan.

The Pasta:

Cook according to directions, until tender. Drain. Set aside.

The Sauce:

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Do not let turn brown. Add the onion and saute until they are translucent (technically, called “sweating”). Add the flour all at once. Using a whisk, combine the flour and the butter/onion mixture, stirring constantly. Do not let it turn brown. Add a little of the milk (a tablespoon or so). Combine with the butter/onion/flour mixture. Continue adding a little of the milk to the mixture at a time, until it has a fairly liquid consistancy. Add the rest of the milk. Raise the heat to high. Whisk continuously until the butter/onion/flour/milk mixture starts to bubble and thicken. Remove from heat. Continue to whisk.
Turn heat back down to medium. Add the mustard (and nutmeg, if desired) to this mixture. Place the pan back on the heat, and gradually add some of the cheese. Whisk until the cheese is melted, before adding more. Continue adding cheese gradually until all the cheese has been used, alternating the cheddar and the swiss. Remember to continue to whisk and wait until the cheese is melted before adding more. When all the cheese is used, add a dash of cayenne pepper, white pepper and salt to taste.

What we’ve done is create a classic white sauce. The butter and flour mixture is called a ‘roux’ and is the start of many classic French sauces. We gradually add the milk so that it combines with the roux without lumps. Remember to continue to stir the mixture to prevent scorching. We season the mixture after the cheese is added because of the salt content of the cheese. Also, the two types of cheeses are important - the cheddar for flavor, the swiss for texture

Add the pasta to the sauce, and mix well. Pour into the prepared casserole pan and place in the preheated oven. Do not cover. Set timer for 30 minutes. Check when the timer goes ‘DING’ (or ‘buzz’ or whatever). If the edges of the pan are not bubbling and the top is not an even brown, continue baking and checking at 5 minute intervals. Let stand for 10 minutes after removing from oven before serving.

MAKES 4 SERVINGS (YMMV)

102

That only applies to coffee.

103

I have been lurking on the edge for a while now, so here goes. Be gentle.

Mr T and I have been married for 4 years now. I like to think of myself as a pretty darned good chef and he seems to like everything I have fixed so far, minus a few veggies he claims foul.

Anyway…to get on with the story. Two years ago, for Thanksgiving I decided to cook a turkey since our families couldn’t get together. I followed some recipe on the foodtv network that had you basting the turkey every hour or so, well after 8 hours of cooking time, the turkey finally reached temp. We read a few days later not to baste that often because it cools the oven down and well you know the rest…longer cooking times yadda yadda.

So last year my biggest disaster. Last year we (notice I say we even though Mr T doesn’t do much in the way of cooking, he is always there to offer moral support) decided to do another turkey only this time we were not basting as often and following the directions off of the butterball package. I left the turkey in the fridge for 4 days to defrost yadda yadda. Dressed and seasoned the turkey, placed it in the oven to begin cooking. Three and a half hours later, we had this beautiful golden bird. The house smelled of Thanksgiving. So I stuck the meat probe into the upper thigh to make sure it was done. Everything looked good. Sliced the breast, perfect. Cut the legs off, then into the thigh…red juice. uh oh…this isn’t suppose to happen. The underneath side of the turkey was RAW.

Turns out…sitting four days in the fridge without turning the turkey over, managed to thaw the upper half of the turkey but left the bottom part still frozen. Lesson learned…this year I think I am serving something simple… like roasted duck. I don’t think I could survive another failed turkey.

This thread is great btw :wink: Thanks!

104

Here’s the chef’s secret to a crispy duck:

When the duck is completely thawed, make 3 or 4 diagonal slits through the skin of the breast (don’t cut into the flesh). Make small slits where the legs join the body (again, just through the skin - don’t detach the legs). Heat a skillet over HIGH heat (I like to use a cast iron pan). Put some oil in the pan maybe 1/4 cup), and place the duck in the pan on its side when the oil is heated. When browned, turn the duck over, and sear the other side. Roast in a pan according to your favorite recipe.

What this does is render the fat out of the duck, resulting in a very crispy skin. This is why when you order duck in a restaurant, the skin is crisp and the meat is moist (and you can never get this at home!)

A side benefit is that the resulting pan juices are much less fatty.

105

Welcome to the boards Tiggrkitty :slight_smile:

fotosbyfrank, have you seen Zenster’s Ultimate Recipe Threads? They are brilliant.

Perhaps consider submitting your recipes as well?

106

I’m confused. My step-Dad always made steak-and-kidney pie (actually, stew as he can’t do pastry) with kidneys. Is this not the norm?

107

Marge Simpson: “Remember, the elevator is the ‘lift’, the bathroom is the ‘loo’, and botulism is ‘steak and kidney pie’!”

Seriously, though, what is the difference? Supposed to be kidney beans?

108

Due to it being finals for me and all, I’ll have to come back to read the bulk of this thread.

But, before then I must share…

My mom makes this wonderful white fudge, and her sister once tried to make it herself. I don’t know if she turned the oven up too high, or left it in too long, but what came out was not fudge.

Oh, it looked like fudge. It smelled like fudge. But we never could taste it. When she removed it from the oven and tried to cut it…the KNIFE BENT! Still trying to salvage it (perhaps we can lick the fudge?) she hit the pan on the counter to try and shake the stuff out. The edge of the counter broke off. Fudgecrete, pan and knife were all rendered unto Mr. Garbagecan.

One of my friends had a marvelous evening when he first started going out with a certain young lady. He had been after her for some time, and finally broke down her resolve, and they started dating. Then came the time she tried to cook him a meal for the first time. And she was not an experienced cook.
Knowing that he was a varsity athelete, she decided the meal should be healthy. Knowing that peanut oil was healthy, she decided that that would be the oil of choice for the meal. Alas, as the meal preperation progressed, she found she had no peanut oil. Then came the inspiration that nearly killed my friend:

“Butter melts and becomes an oil, thus, Peanut Butter must do likewise…”

So, as she uncovered the dishes, most everything looked OK (if it smelled a mite odd), except the peas.

The peas cooked in peanut butter resembled nothing so much as a peanut brittle, but with green lumps where the peanuts should be. That is, it was a solid, lumpy brown and bright green mass.

She served him some of this, anxiously awaiting his verdict. He dug in, and it was crunchy and chewy at the same time, little peas bursting forth their goodness as he crunched through the peanutty outer shell. Truly, it was the inhuman melding of Peter Pan and the Jolly Green Giant.
Love being what it is, he ate it all. She ate none. But seeing his evident enjoyment, she gave him all of the rest of the…pea brittle, which, love being what it is, he ate all of.

Oddly enough, they dated for quite some time after that meal, though I think more restaraunts were involved.

109

In defense of Miracle Whip confusion, the lable DOES say ‘dressing’. And if I remember right, I think it even used to say ‘salad dressing’ up until a few years ago.

That said, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it used for an actual lettuce salad dressing.

And Jello can be topped with ‘**COOL[/B} Whip’, not Miracle Whip

110

Ginger

Let me clarify-Dad though that kidney refered to kidney BEANS not the organ meat. My family as a rule does not consume organs-muscle tissue yes–heart, liver, kidneys-no. He honestly though she had used some sort of bean or “mock kidney”.

As a doctor he just is truly grossed out by kidneys as they are elemental in processing bodily wastes. Especially since Dad was treating diabetics at the time.

And what is so amusing about the episode is that if she had not told him that it was real kidneys he wouldn’t have been grossed out. It really is amusing to have a grownup react like a 7-seven yr old and spit out a mouthful and whine that he is going to be sick(i.e. throw up). I was grossed out because I didn’t like the smell I ended up just pushing it around the plate. Sis didn’t like meat pie and did the same. And Lil’ Bro just loved it and couldn’t eat enough.

111

You haven’t eaten at Papa Tiger’s cousin’s house, then. The salad was a thin layer of lettuce in a 9x12 pan with a completely solid layer of Miracle Whip on it.

Ewwwwwwwww.

112

I’m not a doctor, and the thought of eating kidneys has grossed me out my entire life. Dad’s father was an immigrant from England, and his mom was the first generation British born in America, so it was normal for them to eat horrid foods like that.

113

Okay, story about my sister this time.

She always aspired to be a good cook even though she… just…
…isnt.She’s impatient,she doesnt finush what she starts,just a sucky cook.

First story: My sis and my dad both loved spaghetti, LOVED IT.
So one day when my mom was sick and couldnt cook, they decided to make it themselves. I had no knowledge of any of this cause I was off at a friends house, when i got home ,dads at work, moms at work, sis is asleep. I look in the fridge and to my utmost delite see the large pot that always mean one thing GRAVY!!!. I heap my plate with Gravy, noodles,and meatballs,
Nuke them to perfection and take a heaping bite of meatball.
The only problem was , the meatball had an odd chunk in it, i assume it just some stry garlic and take another bite, more chunks. To this day we dont know what the hell ended up in those meatballs, but every single one had an odd collection of unidentified lumps in them, an entire batch of gravy ruined.
Second:Once again, impatient little sis says “I’m gonna make a cake”.First mistake, she didnt clean the cake pans, which were quite dusty and old.Second mistake, telling us that she forgot to clean the pans. No one but my dad would eat the cake, he lived mind you, but god know what else he ate in them

114

One culinary thought I can never - ever - forget.

“That roux looks just about done. Wonder what it tastes like”.

115

Well, I guess I have a couple of stories of my own to contribute: The one the family remembers best is when I tried to use up some left over corn by putting it in the meatloaf; Don’t ever do this!

When hubby, eldest daughter and I stopped counting fat and calories for weight control, in favor of giving up refined sugar and white flour, we learned to make a good frying batter out of whole wheat flour. We actually purchased a deep fryer, and did lots of great stuff in it. Onion rings, fried mushrooms, chicken nuggets, you name it. Until we tried fried mozzarella. We figured it was pretty simple. Coat chunks of mozzarella cheese with our standard batter, and deep fry. It don’t work that way. The cheese leaked out of the batter, and sunk right to the bottom of the deep fryer!! Urk!

116

I have perfomed some mildly wild experiments in the kitchen, but other than the occasional bloodletting, no disasters.
I was bored one time, and decided to add curry powder to some boxed mac-n-cheese, along with a small handfull of ground black pepper. Tasty food, but vile mac-n-cheese.
My mom has a few failures, one was stuffed squid that had the concistancy of toothpaste andthe taste of tidepool(since then its delicious) shoe leather tough eggplant primavera, and an infamous tale of pasta.

When my mom and dad got married, my dad was used to cooking for one, and my mom bought what was cheapest(bulk is cheap)
She bought some spaghetti noodles(a 5 pound bag) She asked my dad how much to cook, he was in the shower at the time and could not see the package. He told her to cook the whole thing as he was expecting the half pound bag he was used to. Needless to say, they were eating pasta for a few weeks. 5 pots were filled with overflowing noodles. When she was growing up, my grandma would not even let her or her sisters inthe kitchen while she was cooking, so she had no experience at all.

As for rules, even when baking, there is room for experiments.

Try adding a pint of Guiness Stout to a bread machine instead of water, it comes out a tad dense, but the taste is something divine.

117

I thought I didn’t have anything to contribute to this thread. Sure, I’ve had lots of cooking disasters, but nothing really spectacular or entertaining.

Except for the Boob Cake.

A long time ago, when I was in high school and hadn’t been baking very long, I wanted to make a cake. I was using a basic cake recipe with lots of nifty variations. I decided to make a Christmas tree cake, which had three round layers in different sizes. Only I missed the part of the directions that said to double the recipe. So it was kind of flat–more like a dome than a tree.

So then I started to make the icing. No green food coloring–no problem, white icing will just look like a lovely snow-covered tree. So the cake is baked and frosted, sitting on the counter, and my dad is standing there with a mischievous grin. I think he was trying not to say anything, but finally he muttered, “It looks like a boob.” And it really did–all it needed was a little pink frosting and a maraschino cherry on top. I was so embarassed!

Many years later, I’ve recovered from the trauma, and I think it’s funny.

ME

118

I can only pass along a friend’s disaster, as my attempts at cooking involve either (a) broil meat, or (b) follow directions on back of box.

Anyway, this friend of mine from college was a good cook – even made his own pizzas from scratch. So he finds his way home from the bar one night, and decides to make himself a pizza. Gets everything out, puts the tomato sauce in a pot to cook, goes into the living room and “takes a brief nap.” Notice that this was after the bar. Not so much taking a nap as “passing out.”

The sound of the smoke alarm woke him up and he managed to get everything to the point where it wasn’t dangerous any more. The next time I saw him there was a pot sitting in the sink, half-filled with water and dishsoap. There was a charcoal-like black mass along the bottom na dpartway up the sides. I forget how many months of soak-scrub-rinse-repeat it took before the pot was usable again.

119

My mother-in-law is a fine standard Southern cook. She overcooks most everything and makes too much for every meal. She is also a world class hypochondriac and when she can find nothing wrong with herself, she turns to others.

This particular year it was my father in law. He is a diabetic and, in truth, had been having some health problems so MIL decides it’s high cholesterol. So high, in fact, that one more gram of fat will kill him. Then she decides to host the Thanksgiving of all Thanksgivings and bullies every single relative into attending.

ALL offers to bring dishes were rejected for fear of sugar or fat (since that woud kill FIL). So she ended up cooking for 14 people. Ham and turkey, veggtables (8 or so), biscuits, gravy and dessert all made with not ONE GRAM OF FAT OR SUGAR.

Additionally, she had made some things the week of the event but because she had made dozens of dishes, she couldn’t heat them all so many dishes were served room temperature (luke warm turkey and plain canned asparagus, anyone?). Salt substitute, non-fat margarine-like spread, and sweet’n’low were the only condiments on the table.

By my calculation, every adult consummed an average of 2.3 quarts of iced tea just to be able to swallow their meal.

On the way home, I believe we stopped for milkshakes just to lubricate our throats.

As it turned out, FIL was simply having a mild reaction to an antibiotic but MIL came close to killing him with malnutrition.

Every other year from then on I made Thanksgiving. Not many dishes, but all served at the appropriate temperature and swallowable at the very least.

120

Hallo! After lurking for quite some time, I decided to write in this here board. This thread has made me laugh and cringe a lot (sometimes both at the same time)… And brought back fond memories of my carefree days as a college student, living in a flat with 4 other equally insane college students. Ah, the happiness, punctuated by the weird cooking we occassionally inflicted on each other…

In any case, reading this thread reminded me of two spectacular cooking-related incidents; one perpetrated by a friend, the other perpetrated by yours truly.

The first one is soon told. The aforementioned friend came home from a night of partying and drinking at god-knows-when AM. He got home somehow, and once in the safety of the flat, he decided that he was hungry. He knew there was a chicken in the fridge, so he decided to cook something simple: beer chicken (capsule recipe: take a chicken, some seasoning, a bit of oil, put everything in a roasting pan, pour a beer over the chicken and put the whole in the oven. Quite good, actually).

However, there was no beer left at home. What to do? Well, he found a bottle of coca-cola in the fridge as well… Hey, beer and coca-cola are both fizzy, no? It’s not as if there is a big difference between the two…

It is a testimony to his amazing state of extreme drunkenness that, not only he went on with this plan, he actually ate some of the resulting mess. The next day I actually had a chance to taste it. Words fail to convey the utter horridness of the final result.

The second incident came to be due to the fact that, on the day that I had to cook dinner for everybody in the flat (we kept a rota system for that) I also had the mother of all head colds, and couldn’t smell a thing.

For that night, I decided to cook something simple: Spaghetti, with a simple tomato sauce, made with a base of concentrated tomato paste. I went to the fridge, picked up the conspicuous red tube with the tomato paste from the fridge door, and began the process of cooking.

While I was performing my culinary magic, some of my flatmates came through the kitchen and made funny faces, asking me: “What on Earth are you cooking?”, and I would say: “Oh, just some spaghetti with tomato sauce”. “Are you sure you are?”, they’d ask, and I would say: “Oh, come on, of course I am!”.

Dinner is ready, I prepare the plates, everybody sniffs at the result warily, we take a mouthful…

…and we end up running all around, trying to find something to quench the fire in our throats. You see… Somebody had bought a tube of concentrated hot pepper paste, which by bad luck was as red as the tube of concentrated tomato paste I knew was in our fridge. My cold prevented me from smelling anything strange (and it possibly impaired my cognitive processes, I guess).

Fortunately things ended well; in exchange for my paying for pizza for everybody, they magnanimously decided not to kill me on the spot.

JoseB