Baked Potholders

Published October 1978
TRICK OR TREAT
By Terri Andersen
This being the Halloween season I thought I'd tell you about some of the tricks I pulled when it should have been treats—in the kitchen, that is. I should have known I was in for an unusual career in the culinary field when I had my first dinner party. I invited my in-laws and was anxious to make a good impression. Well, I made an impression all right, but it's one I have yet to live down. Nobody seems to remember what I served that day, but my baked pot-holder was a smash! It seems somewhere along the way, while, checking the roast (or whatever it was I was cooking), I inadvertently left a potholder in the oven, (in the pan, sopped in gravy, if I have to be truthful about this). When my brother-in-law wondered what that strange smell was, coming from the oven, I checked it out and realized what I had done. To this day, anytime my family hears me say ‘Where's that potholder?” (I seem to have a knack for leaving them around), someone always asks, “Did you check in the oven?” Worse yet, if I happen to serve something that isn't over-tender, I always get the remark, “Is this the meat or one of your potholders?” Really, I get no respect! Over the years I have managed to get a few great meals on the table, honestly I have, but do you think anyone remembers them? No way! All they remember is the goofs—so much so that my reputation as a cook is one of the big jokes in my circle of friends and family. As my own dear brother quotes of me: “She cooks for the gods—burnt sacrifices.” True, I have had my share of burned pots (oh, have I ever!) but I keep trying to tell people it's only because I have so many other things on my mind (you know, the absent-minded professor type). And usually I’m in a hurry so I turn up the heat to keep up with myself. The only trouble is, things do have a tendency to burn on high heat. Then there's the matter of common sense in cooking—a gift that was evidently withheld from me when housewifely qualities were being given out. Not long ago a friend gave me a recipe for Butterscotch Brownies, and I thought it would be nice of me to take a batch to another friend's house when we went to visit. I followed all the directions and thought the result was very tasty—a little flat, perhaps, but perfectly edible, if I must say so. When we got to our friend's house, what do you think she baked for us? Right! Butterscotch Brownies! Except that hers were about an inch higher than mine and able to be bitten into without breaking a tooth. (Seems I fried the brown sugar in the melted butter instead of just dissolving it. Can I help it if the recipe didn't make that clear?)
I guess what I have to do is find recipes that no one else is interested in; then when I produce the results there won't be anything to compare them to and everyone will think the way it came out is the way it was supposed to come out. Although with my reputation as a cook, even if it turned out perfect, everyone would be doubtful as to whether it tastes the way it should or not.
To be on the safe side, when my son had his graduation party I decided to buy an ice cream cake rather than bake one myself. The box said “Remove from freezer about one hour before serving,” so I took it out at two o'clock for serving at three o'clock. The only trouble is, I got to visiting with our guests and didn't think about the cake until more like five o'clock. Ever serve a melting mound of ice cream for dessert? One of my beloved offspring had to remark: “Gee, Ma, even when you don't cook it you manage to ruin it.” (Ha, ha, ha–bratty kid!) But there is one consolation to all this. Not for me, maybe, but for my future daughters-in
law. (There should be four of them someday if all our sons decide to take a chance and get married). Those four lucky girls will never have to hear their husbands say: “How come you can't cook like my mother?”