Homemade Pretzels

In my very first install of trying something new every day, I decided to appeal to my taste buds, as well as my fat ass, and make a delicious home-made treat. It's important to note what a stretch this is, as I am truly a piss-poor cook. I lack the proper utensils, kitchen, home-making savvy and patience to follow directions. Call this "foreshadowing" if you'd like.



So, I have this fancy bread maker and decided to find a recipe for pretzels. The recipe I found online had an average of 5 stars and was dubbed to come out tasting "better than Auntie Anne's." This struck me as pretty impressive, because look at Auntie's bad boys:

Umm-mmm.


I followed the directions, using ALL of the proper ingredients (no short-cuts like usual). The kids were forced to help me, as it was a truly laborious effort. I let them stay up until 11 a.m. just to sample the 'fruits of our efforts'. After all, they were going to be DE-LICIOUS. A counter-ful of flour, two cookie sheets, one large boiling pot and a dirty bread machine drum later, we had...pretzels!


I think.



Never judge a book by its cover, right? So they looked like rubber dog turd from Spencer's Gifts. Despite their frightening appearance, I was confident, as the recipe suggested, that they were scrumptious! My gag reflex-challenged daughter Claire bit in first. She chewed a few bites then ran to the trash can.

"Oh Claire!" I scolded. "So Dramatic!!!" Then I bit into my own stash of pretzel "paradise." PARADISE???? --insert the sound of the needle screeching across the lp here-- The sinewy texture made me feel as if I was chewing on a foot orthotic. Soon, I was like, "move over" to Claire and we were co-spitting into a garbage can like a couple of bulimic sorority sisters purging up lunch before their Ki Sigma Nu initiation dance.


Let me just say that I rarely spit my food into the garbage can. But then again, I rarely eat rubber dog turds.


No idea where I went wrong on this. I have only one theory: When I boiled them, I used baking soda in the water, which is what the recipe called for. Unfortunately for my taste buds, which are now enrolling in classes on Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, that baking soda MAY have been up to 8 years old. It was from a box which I found already opened (how convenient!) in the back of our OLD fridge. In Gary's words: "No wonder the pretzels tasted like a bum's ass: you just boiled them in 8 years worth of rotting refrigerator food smell!"


So on day one of me trying something new, I'd call it a colossal 'bust.' Had I been able to predict the outcome, I'da just served me and the kids a cut-up mouse pad drizzled in butter and been to bed well before 10!


Tomorrow's Adventure: Write a Children's Story