Pesto is the besto.
Oh golly, that is how this how this one starts? Yikes.
I put all the ingredients together; basil, olive oil, artichoke hearts, sun dried tomato, the works. Dashed a little sea salt on there, some smoked pepper. I was quite happy with the mix.
“What the what?” I whispered back at it, despite being alone in the house.
Surely I was pressing the button incorrectly so I pushed it five or six more times expecting new results. Click, click, click and so forth.
Check out the center of the photo above. That little post feels quite naked.
I forgot to put the blade in. I was happy my wife was not around to see it. Hopefully she doesn’t actually read this.
Of course I have also put many a cookie sheet into a cold oven only to realize ten minutes later as the timer sounds off.
I shouldn’t cook. Or I shouldn’t cook when the kids are around. That would shatter their image of my abilities. Like a Mr. Magoo of the kitchen I am, fumbling through most things. I am happy to wait until they are teenagers before they think I am little more than a bumbling fool.