Santa Claus is Coming to Town (on a Firetruck)...and Some Recipe Disasters

It was a weekend of massive recipe failure.  I don't get the chance to play domestic Mommy during the week at all, so once in a while I seek to re-create myself into that ficticious superhero of, well, domesticity on the weekends by attempting that oh-so-exciting task of cooking.  I used to love to cook, but then Steve decided he was going to pick cooking up to ensure I never poisoned him again as a hobby, and really took off running with it.  I mean, seriously, that guy can create mealtime masterpieces!  And he loves to experiment.  And he experiments very well (I guess I'd deluded myself that the fish stew concoction that I rolled out for dinner with company 19 years ago was good - I honestly thought those smiles and yummy sounds people were making were for real, but now I suspect they may have just been being polite...oh, how embarrassed I am now...).

But I still try my hand every now and then.  This weekend, I decided to try a recipe for ricotta pancakes I pulled out of a magazing ad for Sorento products.  I know the cottage cheese pancakes my father makes, that I've posted about before, are delicious, but I had this recipe right in front of me and thought I'd give it a go on Sunday morning.  It was fantastic - if you happen to like glue.  Or bland, tasteless bricks.  Or if you enjoy making your own stones for skipping on the lake.  Or building garden sheds.

Oh, it was foul. 

So after making 3 or 4, I chucked the rest of the batter into the bin and dropped two frozen pancakes into the toaster oven so my child wouldn't starve. 

Dinner on Sunday night was (nearly) equally disastrous.  When a recipe for soup that serves 6 calls for 2 1/4 quarts of chicken stock, be suspicious...  This recipe required some last-minute emergency modifications by the two of us (involving heavy cream and rice), and dang it, if it didn't turn out amazing!!  As a matter of fact, I'm quite excited to have it leftover for lunch today at work.

So, back to a less-frustrating portion of the weekend, Samantha and I got to see Santa twice!  First, on Saturday night, as he rode into town on the back of a firetruck, escorted by a variety of emergency vehicles, their lights blazing and sirens blaring.  I thought for sure that he'd get down and come mingle with the children, but even though all he did was wave from his perch (accompanied by a slightly creepy snowman), it was no less exciting for Sammi, whose eyes lit up as she waved and shouted, "Hi, Santa!  I love you, Santa!" like he was a rock star at a concert.  Thankfully there was no shirt or knicker-waving from the under-8 crowd (or from the over-8 crowd, for that matter). 

We got a glimpse (along with a smile and a wave) of Santa again in the mall on Sunday.  I'm torn.  I think the Mall Santas are awesome, with their real beards and twinkly eyes.  I hope they get to make their whole annual paycheck in the weeks coming up to Christmas, as they certainly earn it.  But I have a really hard time shelling out 25 bucks for a hit-or-miss photo op, netting me two 5x7s.  Oh, yes, I could shell out the $45 or $55 or even more, and get the whole package, but sheesh, what if the picture sucks?  I explained to Sammi that she couldn't give him a kiss or a hug on Sunday because he was really busy (not to mention, she was wearing sweats and an old shirt - definitely not Mall-Santa-picture-ready) and that we would see him next weekend (at our local DSA holiday party).  Next weekend's Santa doesn't have the real beard or anything, but we love him - he's one of the local Ds dads who has tirelessly given up his opportunity to spend the party time socializing with his family for many years now, and I always treasure the photos we get with him.  Of course, every year it gets harder and harder to pry my star-struck child off of his lap, but I suppose we're not alone in that.  It just goes with the territory of having a 5 year old!

Waving at Santa as he arrived on the fire truck.

More waving.

Santa (with the creepy snowman behind him).