It is nice when you can share a hobby with someone. It gives you something to bond over and a feeling of companionship. Dib and I share the same hobby of sewing. He is might not get all the technical aspects down, but he is excellent at holding the fabric down and inspecting the work. (And if you want me to be completely honest, he can be a complete menace.)
Here are a couple of sewing projects that have the special Dib touch to them.
This story starts with my mother in law giving me a recipe. She had acquired this recipe from a friend and is raved as a no fail bread recipe with only two ingredients. I thought it would be a great recipe to try and a wonderful excuse to buy a half gallon of ice cream. My thought process would be that I would make the ice cream bread and tell my dad about the wonderful uses for ice cream other than just eating it. That was my plan. Eat ice cream, try a new recipe for bread and pick on my father and report back to my mother in law on my success.
I really want to say that I executed the plan flawlessly. If I bragged on this as a success and smirked over my kitchen prowess, then know that I was utterly lying. I totally bombed on this. I think the fault lie with the ice cream. I thought it would sounded wonderful to have chocolate peanut butter bread. That it would be great to make into French Toast. There is one thing that I failed to consider with Chocolate Peanut Butter Ripple, is that there is literally ribbons of peanut butter in the ice cream. Cold peanut butter is stubborn. It does not like to mix and will not unclench its might grip in even melted ice cream. Trying to get the chilled peanut butter to relax and mix with flour is a nightmare that I would not wish on my worse enemy. Once I had everything incorporated I popped it in the oven in a loaf like shape.
In all honesty it looked like I giant brown turd. It did not look appealing and sadly it did not change into any sort of shape while it baked. It wen tin the oven looking like a turd, and it came out of the oven looking like turd. This was not the easy kitchen victory that I had anticipated. It was the anthesis of that. My husband, the supportive champ that he is, shave me is best Paul Hollywood impression and let me know it was under proved.
I had thoughts that perhaps I could salvage this experiment and then write I heart warming tale about over coming adversity and try to tie it into a moral or child hood lesson I learned from my father.
My glorious idea to salvage it, was to first slice it up, so it no longer looked like a turd. The second part was to bake/toast it to be like a biscotti and maybe put a little bit of fudge icing on it. Everything is better with fudge icing on it. Except it isn’t. It still tasted like stale ice cream, except now it was dry and the fudge icing made it really obvious that the bread was lackluster. It was not what I was trying to accomplish and was a rather embarrassing kitchen failure.
Sometimes things just suck. There is no way to make it not suck. Sometimes you just have to accept that and keep moving. On the bright side, I had still had ice cream.
