shanmonster (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shanmonster) wrote2011-09-25 02:27 pm
shanmonster) wrote2011-09-25 02:27 pm
Burger Time
My Dad fancies himself a good cook. Sometimes he does make good food. Other times, well, not so much.
Let me tell you about the time Dad decided to make supper for my sister and me.
He chose to make hamburgers. Sounds pretty basic, doesn't it? Well, not this time. Dad decided to become creative, and began mixing all sorts of things into the meat. I don't recall most of it, but I do remember he minced up lettuce and blended it with the ground beef.
When he slapped the patties onto the pan, they stank. Not like rotten meat, mind you, but like something horribly wrong. The meat was an unappetizing pallid grey. He put the ruined meat on buns and presented them to us. We shook our heads and said no, thank you.
Dad got furious at this, and told us to eat the burgers. I took a bite, then spit it out. It was disgusting. I couldn't make myself eat it. My sister was more stubborn, and wouldn't even take a single bite.
After railing at us a bit more, Dad finally decided to try his own cooking. "Oh," he said, then spit. "Oh. Oh."
In the meanwhile, our little yap dog, Terry, had been dancing all around us, begging for food. One of his nicknames was Garbage Gut, because he would eat anything.
Dad put his burger in Terry's dish.
Terry took a bite of the burger, lifted his leg, pissed on the burger, then ran away yiking like he was being kicked to death.
And so Dad threw the burgers out and we had Corn Flakes for supper.
Let me tell you about the time Dad decided to make supper for my sister and me.
He chose to make hamburgers. Sounds pretty basic, doesn't it? Well, not this time. Dad decided to become creative, and began mixing all sorts of things into the meat. I don't recall most of it, but I do remember he minced up lettuce and blended it with the ground beef.
When he slapped the patties onto the pan, they stank. Not like rotten meat, mind you, but like something horribly wrong. The meat was an unappetizing pallid grey. He put the ruined meat on buns and presented them to us. We shook our heads and said no, thank you.
Dad got furious at this, and told us to eat the burgers. I took a bite, then spit it out. It was disgusting. I couldn't make myself eat it. My sister was more stubborn, and wouldn't even take a single bite.
After railing at us a bit more, Dad finally decided to try his own cooking. "Oh," he said, then spit. "Oh. Oh."
In the meanwhile, our little yap dog, Terry, had been dancing all around us, begging for food. One of his nicknames was Garbage Gut, because he would eat anything.
Dad put his burger in Terry's dish.
Terry took a bite of the burger, lifted his leg, pissed on the burger, then ran away yiking like he was being kicked to death.
And so Dad threw the burgers out and we had Corn Flakes for supper.