Iron Chef - Huntington!

Awhile back, I decided, after watching a Marathon of Rachel Ray, that I, too, could cook a "stewp." A "stewp" is Rachel's way of saying a soup-like stew, pretty clever, huh? Or something...

Anyway, so I go to the grocery store all by my petrified lonesome and start gathering up the list of "simple" ingredients. By the time I'm done in the produce aisle my cart start to resemble that of a bunny's on a marijauna munchie spree.

I unload my treasure trove of veggie delights and fresh-picked yummies on to the chopping block and then dice and slice to my heart's content, according to directions of course. After careful measuring and systematically following all of the directions printed off of foodnetwork.com, I wait, let the "stewp" simmer and prepare to be dazzled by my culinary masterpiece.

I stoop over my "stewp" and ladle up a spoonful. It's gorgeous and smells heavenly.

I sip.

I spit.

Ew. Ew. EW.

It tasted like a mixture of tomato soup, curry and more tomato soup infused curry.

 

I dumped the whole batch in the drain and turned on the dispoal for pure vindictiveness.

I vowed never again to waste my time making "stewp" again. Ever.

Until last night.

I saw a recipe in JANE magazine - seemed simple enough: olive oil, onion, mushrooms and some paprika. Throw it all in a skillet and simmer and voila! You have Transylvanian Mushroom Soup.

So I tried again.

I chopped the onion and the mushrooms. I added a clove of garlic because, well, I kinda thought a soup inspired by the birthplace of vampires to at least contain SOME garlic! I tried very hard to follow the recipe to the letter, but I must've messed it up somewhere.

Thirty minutes later I had brown, runny mushroomy-liquid that tasted like oil. Not garlic. Not onions.

Oil. I poured it down the drain and then made myself a sandwich.

Now the regular readers of my blog know that I am not usless in the kitchen. I happen to make a mean peach cobbler and the bitchingest artichoke dip known to man ( yes, it even beats out the Olive Gardnen's!). However, I think that in the Kitchen Arena - I have been beaten. First by that too perky person's recipe for the nonsensical "stewp." TKO, baby.

And secondly by a Halloween-esque soup cut from the pages of an okay fashion magazine. TKO - again.

But that's okay. I will take my failures and let them manifest gloriously into other dishes. I will not stand by and let my culinary prowess be determined by the detrimental effect of something that begins as water! No!

I will strap on my apron with "HOLLY" emblazed across my ample bosom, grab up my pink Kitchen Aid Mixer and a tin of flour and get to work!

I may not be able to make a pot of soup, goshdarnit, but I will make a cake from - wait for it - scratch!

Well, I may have a little help from Betty Crocker on this one - but I'll crack an egg or two on my own, promise!