Most Distracted Mother Award

I burnt my big-time hand last night while trying to get ready for our final welcome-home dinner.  I was so mad at myself.  Yancey maintains that I burn myself in the kitchen more than anyone he's ever seen.  Hello?! Maybe it's because I'm always in there.  It's just a matter of probability.  And I'm usually trying to do too many things at once.  Last night, for instance, while I should have been tenderly giving the children a bath and reading their favorite books, I was cutting out business cards, keeping the laundry going, making rhubarb galette (don't worry--you'll see it soon), neurotically checking for comments on my last posting, and experimenting with some flatbread that I watched Mark Bittman make in this video. It looked so alluringly easy when he did it, and so delicious when he took a big bite on screen.  I couldn't rest until I had tried it.

I will definitely not be giving a recipe or technique for it here, as it was a complete flop.  Watch Mark do it if you're interested. He's more entertaining anyway.  I used roasted garbanzo flour, which seemed like it would be delicious.  It might have been alright if the center of the bread didn't remind me of modeling clay.  But the point of this whole story is that, as I was taking the skillet out of the oven while yelling at Wyatt to put on his pajamas, I burned the hell out of my hand.  I'm using profanities just to give you a tiny taste of what it was actually like here last night.  Sorry, kids.  I'll put another quarter in your counseling fund.

At Yancey's graduation lunch today, as I was nursing the wound and telling this story, Emily and my Mom said I needed to write about it.  Otherwise you, dear reader, might get the impression that everything which emerges from my kitchen is photo-worthy.  Wyatt said, laughing, "You should have taken a picture of that bread."  I would have if I wasn't too busy cursing and blistering.

Here's a quote to hold you over until the next real posting.  Right after the disaster, Wyatt said, "Mom, you've made 500 recipes from all your cookbooks that turned out, so don't feel bad that this one didn't."  I stopped, ice melting down my arm, and said, "You're right, honey.  I needed to hear that."  And I did.

Oh--here's a couple photos to hold you over, too.  I'm too tired right now to give a recipe, but we had another version of welcome-home pasta last night that I couldn't get enough of.  (You didn't think I'd stay on the failure thing too long, did you?) I chopped up a gigantic bunch of broccoli rabe from the Columbia City Farmer's Market and sauteed it with tons of garlic, olive oil, and anchovies.  I also blasted some cauliflower in the oven (that darn head was taking up my whole produce drawer).  I tossed the cauliflower and rabe with whole wheat pasta and cubes of ricotta salata.  Between that and Yancey being home for good, I really can't complain.