I thought for sure, last night, that I’d have a new recipe to share with you today. It seemed like it would be a win, because it was a cheeseburger macaroni casserole and I love that sort of thing. And the calories wouldn’t even have been all that bad, really. I did the math in advance, this time.
And then I ate it.
Well, let’s be honest here. I ate part of it. The first bite was just sort of, well, boring. The second was unpleasant, and then I started getting this aftertaste. And my son, who I’ve told time and again has to try the recipe before asking if he can have something different, gamely tried it as well. Then, after his third bite, he looks at me. “Dad? This tastes funny.”
“Yeah, it does. Doesn’t it?” I reply.
“Do I have to eat it?” he asks.
“No,” I decide, then and there. “No, you don’t. And I don’t either.”
So we threw it away, and we had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fruit for dinner. I won’t bother with the actual “recipe” for that meal, though. Because it’s PBJ.
Man, though. That specific cheeseburger casserole recipe was gross.