My Mom is Italian. My Grandmother was Italian. My Great-Grandmother was Italian. You get the point. What's the problem you ask? Besides the fact that I am not Italian? (Come on! You see the picture!) Well...I have no eggs. Any Italian will tell you that cooking without eggs is virtually impossible. That is, unless you're using boxed Barilla; but then that leads to the question, "Are you truly an Italian"?
Yesterday, during my 3-hour excursion to the grocery store (how many times can a three-year-old go potty at the opposite end of the store), I became awestruck. The entire store was covered in banners and signs that read, "10 for $1". And, as I continued to be dazzled by sale items left and right (as any SAHM would be), my eyes cast upon a lovely sight - a beautiful plump purple eggplant with a lovely green stem. Had I ever made eggplant before? No. But it was $1!
So tonight I belted out a couple of "paaaarmagiana regiaaaaana" and "meatballaaa" phrases to help me feel a little closer knit to my...ahem...heritage, and started peeling the eggplant as the internet recipe directed. Madison even joined in on the foreign language experiment. We were a couple of fools...and because the weather has been nice, our windows were wide open. Yes, my next door neighbors (who are also Italian, and no I don't live in Little Italy) are going to send cousin Gino and cousin Georgio to get me because of my lack of funds for Rosetta Stone software.
After slicing, salting and pressing moisture out of my beloved Barney-colored sale special; I was ready to dredge and bake. Crap. No eggs. And that's how the story ended folks. Seriously. Because I am not cramming the kid in the car at 6:00pm so that we can have a midnight snack and omelets tomorrow. *Gazing at the eggplant slices sitting in the colander and wondering if I could use them for a pseudo "Spa Night", like cucumbers with a hot towel wrap. Nope...didn't think so. Darn!*
You know, there's something nice about being adopted and non-Italian. Rice, rice...baby. Of course, then there's always Campbell's. Reap me over the coals and brand me, "Bad Mommy" because tonight folks I smell chunky chicken noodle soup...or well something like it anyways. Ever since pregnancy it's all fowl to me. I know...that was bad. *sigh*
Aha! *plotting* Maybe if I play my cards right (and hubby is hungry enough) I can escape to the grocery store while Daddy puts Madison to bed. Of course, how sad is that. OOOOOoooo the big evening excursion to "get out on my own" and "have time to myself" plot. Eggs. And to think, I owe it all to the eggplant.
2 comments:
Very nice blog. I love your humorous writing style. And I totally empathize with the egg situation. Last week I went all weekend without eggs. On Monday I made the trip to the grocery to just to get some (and ended up with over $100 of other stuff I 'had' to have) and on Wednesday I found those 18 eggs in the back of my Jeep! Yes, when dear son brought the other $100 of junk in, he left the eggs. So, what's a few more days without eggs? :)
Post a Comment