Worst culinary disasters

Or, Things That Go Bump In The Oven

My mom, like many moms out there, likes to do things to leftovers. This time, the leftover item in question was a badly overcooked leg of lamb (Mom couldn’t find her meat thermometer when cooking it.) So she got the brilliant idea to make it into a meat pie sort of thing. Alarm bells immediately went off in my head.

“Meat pie?” I inquired warily.

“Yeah. I’ll cook it up in the slow cooker with plenty of carrots and potatoes and things, and tomorrow we can bake it up with some biscuits on top.”

Ohhh-kay. Mom’s success rate with the slow cooker is about 50-50. This goes down drastically when the intended product is anything like a stew or soup. This already sounded ominous, but she would not be swayed. Into the slow cooker went the lamb, along with various vegetables, canned broth and probably some other stuff, where it bubbled most of last Sunday.

Monday night we were spared the Lamb Slop, as Mom had to work late. She suggested that Dad, Quantum Sister or I cook it up; after one look at the congealed mess in the fridge, the verdict was a unanimous no.

Thus came Tuesday night, and this time Mom was home to cook her creation. It smelled as bad as it looked, and the smell only got worse as it cooked. I thanked Og that I am 20 years old and therefore not obliged to eat whatever is provided; I can make my own food if that’s what I want to do. All too soon it was done, and Quantum Sister, being braver or more desperate (or both) actually took a bowlful. After one bite, she turned to me and said, “QB, you’re not gonna like this.” I thanked her sincerely for the warning. Mom sort of scowled, took a bowl to my grandma, and returned with a bowl of her own.

The look on Mom’s face as she tried a bite of her creation was absolutely priceless. Evidently it was worse than I thought. Mom isn’t fussy, so a dish has to be pretty darn bad if SHE won’t eat it. After a few bites, she and Quantum Sister decided to do what I had planned on all along; find something else to eat. Dad was warned away from the Lamb Slop, and we fed it to the dogs for the next couple nights. They loved it.

Anyone else feel like sharing a Culinary Disaster story? Tell, tell!

Christmas morning when I was ten, my mother got up at the crack of dawn to prepare the Butterball turkey for dinner that evening. Everyone was dreaming away when I awoke to a blood curdling scream. My father and I raced out of our rooms thinking the worst, and raced into the kitchen to find my mother at the sink in hysterics. When my father looked in the sink he could only say Oh my God, before he started laughing.
My mother had been pulling out the giblits from the turkey and realized her hand was stuck inside the bird. So she braced one hand on the bird and pulled with all her might. With a pop her hand came free, as well as what was in her hand, and the force of her pull, propelled her hand up to within an inch of her nose. She was holding in her hand the bloody head of the turkey, eyes bulging, tongue protruding, and quite seperated from the rest of it’s poor body…we ate spagetti for christmas.

See duplicate thread: http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?s=&threadid=189324