Last night I decided to make Little Brother Mark's pot pie. Sounded simple enough. I used my 8"2qt, 2 cans of chunky chicken corn chowder and some bisquick. I poured the filling/soup into the dutch, mixed the bisquick with milk until it was a very thick paste. I spackled this onto the top of the filling. I should have been immediately suspicious when the weight of the bisquick caused large portions to start to sink like Atlantis. I did my best to manipulate this into a covering, only to mild success. I was expecting a cook time of around 30-35 minutes. At 1 hour and 10 minutes, my ever-patient spouse started looking for dinner alternates for my son, who was starting to close in on his bed time. The topping just never looked right. It had some lovely browned peaks on it, but there was nothing that resembled breading on top of a pot pie. My family was gracious, and managed to eat the filling out from under the topping. I stubbornly consumed what I could. In the words of Randy Jackson, "Yo, Dawg, it wasn't good." I brought the leftovers to work for dinner the following evening, thinking it would somehow transform during refrigerated hypersleep. Upon opening the tupperware for my meal break, I was reminded of some of the creature incarnations of John Carpenter's "The Thing". I thought at first there was an entire chicken breast that had reformed. But it was a giant dough lump, swimming in the remnants of some otherwise tasty chicken corn chowder. I hoped that the liberal aplication of hot sauce would kick start the dish like a difribulator, but alas, it was truly unpalatable. I am wallowing in my hunger now, using this moment to guide me as I discover, share and make up recipes. But I can also use it as a reminder that I will make mistakes... and that it is okay. I just can't share it while gleefully chanting "I meant to do that!"
Love and (gurgle... grumble... sorry, that's my stomach) Iron, Del