I have never claimed to be a great food maker of any kind. I have been successful with dishes here and there, but it usually takes a few tries.
The other night, I went grocer-ing for the ingredients of a dish that sounded scrumptious to have for dinner. I was confident, having two recipes to guide me along the way. Well, it was bad. I wouldn't call it a disaster because the dish was still edible, but ..... it looked and tasted different in my mind's picture.
Let's just put it this way:
If I were a snotty little tween who had an attitude, a conversation would play out like this:
Tween's friend: "What did you have for dinner last night?"
Snotty little tween: "Well, my mom said she made 'Chicken Piccata', but I would call it "Chicken Pi-ca-ca!! giggle, giggle"
As I thought of that senerio, it reminded me of when my sister was upset with my mom for what was being made for dinner. My brother, Brian, walked into the kitchen and asked (as Jill had), "What's for dinner?"
Jill replied quickly, before my mom could answer, saying, "POOP."
Jill's punishment: Her dinner that night was poop.
(Or maybe it was a really blackened hot dog that looked like poop -- I don't remember.)