My whole life approach can be summed up nicely with “jumping the gun”. I always seem to be racing off before the pistol, headlong into some enterprise that frequently runs into challenges because I neglect to read all the instructions and make certain I have what I need BEFORE starting. This goes way back. My best friend had to hurry out and buy me an infant car seat and bring it to me at the hospital because I was 10 days earlier than planned, and hadn’t done a thing to be ready other than kick my slip on shoes near the door in case I needed to leave in a rush. Don’t judge me, you just try bending down and putting shoes on feet you aren’t even sure you have anymore when your one thousand months pregnant and haven’t seen anything on your own body that falls beneath the giant orb of your midsection since the second trimester. Slip on shoes at the door and a set of keys hanging at eye level were all I had ready for d-day. Needless to say, my water started leaking, I was alone at the house with not a stitch of clothing packed and waddling towards my slip-ons and the car keys at an impressive speed. A panicked call to meet me in the driveway, and 24 hours later I was sitting in a wheelchair at the entrance to the hospital, an 8 pound 2 ounce 10 days early newborn clutched in my arms, waiting for Wabbit (my best friends still-used nickname) to pull up from her frantic spree at target with the infant car seat so the hospital nurse would let us take the kid home. Yup. Jumping the gun every day since forever.
This brings me to this afternoon. I’ve been cooking everything in sight in order to freeze dinners for the vacation I am supposed to be leaving for in 5 hours. I decide a great last minute thing would be my famous bacon loaded egg and potato salad. With two pounds of bacon cooked and chopped, 5 pounds of potatos boiled and diced, one dozen eggs hard boiled and sliced, all I needed was to make the simple dressing of mayo, mustard, salt and pepper. Except I had only a tablespoon of mayo in the jar I pulled out at the last minute. DAMN. It’s Friday night, it’s hot and I haven’t stopped cleaning, cooking and packing for two days. I’m in no mood to face a store only 4 minutes away so I’m screwed. TEMPORARILY. You see, I’ve stood here before, ass backwards, a few ingredients shy of a recipie if you know what I mean, stumped and trying to figure a way out.
I decide that I am sure I’ve read somewhere that mayo is super easy to make at home; eggs, oil, vinegar, salt. So I grab those items and dump them into a blender and hit frappe. Voila! A disgusting, soupy NOT mayo substance stares up at me. And now I’m all out of vinegar (I’m not even sure I used the right kind since I never bothered getting directions or reading) and sort or super pissed at the world in general for not simply aquiescing to my will.
I google “home made mayo” on my phone and glance at the pictures. You may have sensed a theme about STILL not reading the directions, even for amounts of ingredients. Yup, I’m pig headed. The pictures show egg YOLKS (not the whole blasted thing like I was tossing in the mixer like a blind chef), mustard and oil. I have that stuff! I grab everything and dump them into the mixer with a great deal of skepticism and once again hit frappe like a BOSS. It works. Unbelievably it works. I decide to get cocky and add bacon and drippings and another egg yolk or two to the cheery, yellow substance staring up at me and it yeilds the most delicious home made bacon mayonaise I could have hoped for. I run out to feed the animals, flush with success and am caught in a much needed down pour. Another happy and unexpected delight.
I am so impressed with myself at this point, I decide one day they will honor my ingenuity and daring do with a nice, modest sculpture of me holding a pound of bacon in one hand, and the American flag aloft in the other because of this culinary brilliance in the face of dinner time disaster. It seems I may never learn from my mistakes because they only serve to embolden me. Carpe bacon, and seize the day!