Home Cookin'

In celebration of my finishing one year of writing this crap, Lady K promised me a casserole. Which I'm still waiting for. But in response to her generous offer I mentioned that as a wee child growing up, my mom would occasionally make a dish that was called "Hot Dog Casserole." Coincidentally, this dish involved hot dogs.

We were always big on truth in advertising in our house.

But that's not all it involved. In addition to the scraped up remains of goats, hogs and other animals I'd rather not think about, this casserole contained a couple of packets of Birdseye frozen mixed vegetables, elbow macaroni, and a liberal, and I do mean liberal, helping of mayonaisse to hold it all together.

No one's going to ask for this recipe are they?

Here's the thing though. I loved it. If my mom told me we were having it for dinner, I would get as excited as I now would if my wife said that she was grilling up a thick steak for dinner and that Jessica Biel was coming over to eat it off her stomach. I would be THAT happy. I loved it.

So in law school while living in an apartment with three other guys, I would occasionally make it myself. Everyone laughed, but I liked it just fine. Plus it was quick and I didn't have to pick cockroaches out of any of the ingredients, since they were either frozen, refrigerated, or in a sealed bag. Unlike when we'd try to make pancakes and the Bisquick would be moving.

That's not a joke. It is, however, an excellent source of protein.

So anyway, time passes and I haven't made this stuff in years. Nor has my mother. Probably because we've all realized what that shit would do to our arteries. So recently my wife is making fun of my cooking skills, which consist mostly of not burning the Eggos, and she brings up hot dog casserole. All of a sudden, like prairie dogs looking for hawks, the kids pop up from the other side of the table.

"Hot dog casserole? What's that? Is it good? Can you make it? Now?"

I look at my wife. She shrugs. "They're your kids", conveniently forgetting that I saw both of them come out of HER. I agree to re-enter the kitchen for a one-time only performance. I get out the macaroni, the hot dogs, some kind of frozen vegetables, and of course, the mayo. I boil, slice, strain and mix. I serve. I include a portion for myself.

It's awful. I can't believe I liked this stuff. Jessica Biel eating steak off my wife's stomach would be WAAAAAAAYYYY better than this! And also probably better than opium, but I wouldn't know because while my mom would serve hot dog casserole, she never did let us have opium.

The kids? Oh, they loved it. But we're still eating pizza tonight.