“I can’t even make banana bread there’s no way I could make meth,” I told Robert (of Inglorious Bastards/Bitches, my new writing group, fame) on Tuesday night. We were talking about how you get carded to buy allergy meds. It makes me feel suspect whenever I have to go to the pharmacy counter and beg for my loratadine and pseudoephedrine. Of course I have a guilty conscience, I’m Catholic.
He laughed, but I wasn’t kidding. I can’t make banana bread. Or I can’t consistently make edible banana bread. So far I’ve attempted to make it three times, only once was it edible. And if you tell me how easy banana bread is to make I will punch you in the face. I know it’s supposed to be easy. I’ve only read about 38 recipes. Somehow I fuck it up.
So you can understand my irritation at the very idea that I could make crystal meth using a recipe.
But my crankiness concerning banana bread cannot compare to the macaroni & cheese anxiety I’m living with. Ever since I saw some Alton Brown thing on the Food Channel that combined Revolutionary War-era history and a recipe for macaroni & cheese (something to do with Yankee Doodle Dandy), I’ve been obsessed with making homemade macaroni & cheese (and if you tell me it’s easy I won’t just punch you in the face, I will punch you in the face and then light you on fire). I’ve made it about a dozen times (including last night) and every single time I end up with a pasty, flavorless mass of not-cheesy grossness. I’m not quite sure how I fuck it up. I’ve tried about a dozen different recipes and yet. . . barfiness every time I make it.
How someone can turn pasta, butter, milk, and cheese into something disgusting is a true mystery.
Normally, the fact that I cannot make macaroni & cheese would not cause me more than minor irritation. However, I opened my big, fat mouth and told Sister #2 that I would bring it for Rock & Roll Bookclub on Saturday. Since I still haven’t lived down the one time in 2003 when I said I would make potato salad and didn’t, I have to bring the mac and the cheese. You see how my honor is at stake, don’t you?
I’m so screwed.