I'm never at my best when I'm preoccupied, which happens a lot when I'm focusing more on the plot twists in my mystery than on the ingredients in my recipe.
Yesterday evening, I was faced with the dilemma of sitting down and getting a really great idea down on paper, or making dinner. Hungry mouths tipped the scales. Not having shopped in several days, I raided the fridge and found left over chicken and a box of shitake mushrooms. Perfect, chicken crepes it is!
After a short whirr in the blender, the batter went into the fridge to rest while I prepped everything else and made the Mornay sauce, all the while wondering how my antagonist (a young woman) learned to cut the brakelines on a truck.
Eventually it was time to make the crepes. I grabbed the revered family crepe pan -- the one with the special dimples and blue lining my mother hand-carried home from Paris some 50 years ago and set it to heat. A quick brushing of butter and I was ready to ladle in the luscious batter, carefully swirling at around the pan. I watched as it bubbled (?), hissed (?), and bubbled some more. I'd never seen batter do that before. I poked at the edges which refused to brown and crinkle. Poking with a spatula created a gloppy mass. Had I finally lost my culinary touch? It was then that my eye caught the bowl on the back of the stove - the batter. I'd been trying to made a crepe out of Mornay sauce. Colour me embarrassed.
Now you know (one of) my most embarrassing kitchen moments. Care to share one of yours?