I really do. I HATE beef. I swear, I’m going to become a vegetarian if I can’t escape eating steaks/roasts…
I used to be a good cook, dammit!! Until dad came home and we HAD to make nearly every damn day, steak, potatoes. Roast, potatoes. Horridly-tough-and-greasy-ribs, and potatoes. Chicken, oh wow that’s rare enough, and potatoes. GAH. EVERY FREAKING THING!! It’s been pressure cooked or sometimes rarely barbequed. Because it’s so tough you can’t eat it without pressure cooking it.
I used to be a GOOD cook! I used to be able to cook all sorts of interesting stuff. I was creative. EVERYONE liked it.
Beyond dad.
He wasn’t home.
Which was fine, because he wouldn’t have liked it anyway.
Damnnit, I hate steaks. I’m swearing. That usually means I’m pretty vehement about the opinion. Heh.
But YOU try eating food that tastes bloody THE SAME for MONTHS. GAH! We own a cow, see? The only different meat we have was chickens (whole ones), sausages, and hamburger. I used mostly hamburger. But now we’re nearly out of hamburger.
We have some bison, but by now, I’ve grown to hate any type of meat that I can’t make look so different from meat… heh.
So now I’m mad at dad (and he likewise), because he wanted to make two pounds of hamburger into PATTIES (ei: read: as much like steaks as is humanly possible), and I took it out to make into a lausagua because I NEED SOMETHING BESIDES STEAK BEFORE I GO INSANE!!
But you can’t tell HIM that. Gah! Nooo… “No one cares what I want!”. (smacks head on keyboard) HE doesn’t care what I want. Or mom wants, for that matter. WE want something besides steak and potatoes. GAH!!!
I’m going to become a vegetarian, or at the least, a sandwich meat, hamburger, and chopped up meat atarian.
You know, I was becoming a good cook until I had to start making steak and potatoes every day (unless mom cooked them, in which case I still had to eat them). I want pyrogies!! (I should’ve done those today. I’m making a roast. I refused to cook the hamburger and make it into patties. You see, if HE had done it, I would’ve lived with it and made potatoes quietly. But he told me to make supper, in the words “Would you like to make supper now, please” which mean “Make supper. No, I’m not going to say thank you when you’re done, but if you don’t make it, you’ll be in trouble”. Had DAD made hamburger patties, I would’ve suffered with eating them. But there’s no way in Kessel I’m making them.)
Yeah. So I rebelled and now dad’s mad at me. Both were thawed out, anyway… (Sighs) So it’s not like I did anything wrong. I washed the pressure cooker before he asked me to do it, anyway…
Grrr… and there’s hardly any hamburger left, so we’re stuck with this horrible meat until it’s all gone. I hate it. I really, really do. You know, before I was actually able to make INTERESTING food. I even managed to pull off potatoes a graiten, or whatever it was. And Chinese food. And other stuff like that. (sighs)
^That is not material permitted to be quoted.
And Great-Grandma’s in the hospital with pnomonia. Yeah.
