Finding the proper utensils was challenging, considering I use the kitchen primarily to get to the deck, to get to the hot tub. I read the recipe several times to be sure I had the ingredients, but I must have missed the egg. I went on line and found I could replace the egg called for in the stuffing with a mashed brown banana and a quarter teaspoon of baking powder. I wondered about the taste of the banana, but decided to give it a whirl. I added some peanut butter, because my father would have, and it went along with the banana thing.

 

The recipe said to reduce the wine sauce, and I did, only to find that reducing did not mean cutting back. When the sauce clumped together and began smoking up the kitchen, I added some of the wine I was nipping on, which worked quite well. I placed my magnificent creation in the oven, set exactly as directed, and had another glass of wine.

 

I also thought it would be nice to do the dishes. It's mind-boggling to see the amount of dishes, pots and pans it takes for one lousy meal. Small wonder working moms don't often cook gourmet. I emptied the sink, out of respect for my working sister, and refilled my wine just as the oven dinger sounded. I opened the door to find a nicely browning stuffed pork roast bubbling in aromatic sauces. The recipe suggested basting the roast, which presented a problem. The baster could be anywhere, and unwilling to waste time searching for it, I found a large spoon. The spoon didn't fit in the pan with the roast, so I thought if I tipped the pan, I could pour the juice into the spoon, and from the spoon back to the roast.

 

I tipped the pan and the juice was filling the spoon nicely as the roast slid over the pan's edge into the sink. Thank God the sink was empty. I chased the roast around with my giant fork until I cornered it, and plopped it back into the pan, splattering the hot greasy sauce on my brand new white shirt, and losing most of the banana and peanut butter stuffing on the counter top. Using my oversized cooking mitt, I swept the stuffing back into the pan, along with my half full wine glass.

 

Picking glass out of the roasting pan is not an option comparable to a replacement banana and an uncalled for teaspoon of peanut butter. I considered picking out the largest pieces and straining the sauce for slivers, but opted for a trip to the grocery store, where I purchased a pre-stuffed, pre-cooked pork roast, jarred Marsala sauce, and a large bottle of Kendall Jackson. When I returned home, I hid all evidence of my half baked disaster, and put the pre-made, pre cooked dinner in the oven. As car doors slammed outside, I grabbed a book, my wine, and draped myself in a thoroughly relaxed position on the couch.

 

Dinner went well, I think, although heartburn kept me up most of the night. I have accepted the fact that some people just aren't cut out to be gourmet cooks, so I have since replaced my chef's apron with knitting needles. I could make socks for everyone for Christmas.