Okay, so, a few months back my mother got tired of all our whisks getting destroyed by the utensil drawer. So she bought two new ones, one large the other tiny, and stuck them in a cup on a stove for use.
No one apparently informed my father of this; so while he and I have been trading off on cooking duty for the time while my mother has been away in Cali for the past few days, he apparently was looking for a whisk and couldn't find one.
Today I found he had made pulled pork, but the recipe is horrendous and was extremely sour and acidic. I told him about it, and we started trying to salvage the sauce which was the main flavor.
We added in a bunch of random stuff, brown sugar, sour cream (don't ask me, it was his idea) Ketchup, baking soda. I figured the little spoon I was using wouldn't be enough to stir all this in, I reached over and grabbed one of the whisks from the stove.
He looked at me and went "Where did you get that?"
So I told him that I got it from the stove. For him it was like I pulled the damn thing out of thin air.
No one apparently informed my father of this; so while he and I have been trading off on cooking duty for the time while my mother has been away in Cali for the past few days, he apparently was looking for a whisk and couldn't find one.
Today I found he had made pulled pork, but the recipe is horrendous and was extremely sour and acidic. I told him about it, and we started trying to salvage the sauce which was the main flavor.
We added in a bunch of random stuff, brown sugar, sour cream (don't ask me, it was his idea) Ketchup, baking soda. I figured the little spoon I was using wouldn't be enough to stir all this in, I reached over and grabbed one of the whisks from the stove.
He looked at me and went "Where did you get that?"
So I told him that I got it from the stove. For him it was like I pulled the damn thing out of thin air.
