Yabbies!

Let me start by saying, this is not something I ever want to see on my plate. I do not now, nor have I ever, nor will I ever, catch, cook and eat anything that comes out of the water. It's just one of those things I don't do. Like choosing clothes for my eldest daughter. It's just not done, unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences.

So when my husband suggested that he takes the girls down to our dam to catch yabbies, I was slightly displeased, to say the least. I told him in no uncertain terms that if by some chance, he managed to catch any, he was not to bring them into the kitchen.

They returned with a bucket of slimy, clawed, and in my view, highly unattractive crustaceans. What's worse, he took them into the kitchen, put them in a saucepan and cooked them on my stovetop!

Apparently yabbies are very good eating, but I was not about to find out. He boiled them in water and served them with tartare sauce. Both girls devoured them, and asked for more.

And me? I'm off to the shops to buy .... something..... anything. Anything that doesn't have eyes and claws.

Vegetable Flan

Okay. First of all, no-one ever told me about this thing called 'blind-baking'. "Blind-bake pastry for 10 minutes" it said. What the heck? Thankfully the back of the pastry packet explained this phenomenon. "Line the dish, trim the edges, place a sheet of baking paper in it and fill with uncooked rice. Cook for 10 minutes. Remove loading (that's what we chefs call the rice and baking paper) and cook for a further 8 minutes or until pastry is golden." Well, okay; if you say so.

As foreign as this was to me, it all seemed to work out just fine. The rest of the recipe was pretty well straight forward. Melt the butter, mix the vegetables, gradually add the milk and - you guessed it - stir until boiling! I can do that!

It didn't burn. It didn't sag. It didn't sit on the dinner table as a shameful testament to the fact that cooking is what I do worst in this world.

It worked!

And even better - everyone loved it. Everyone. Even my vegetable-hating daughter. She ate every last piece. I tell you, this one is a winner!

And take a look at the photo. The recipe is behind the flan. I must say, I'm rather proud that for once my creation actually closely resembles the photo in the cookbook, instead of looking like yesterdays leftovers.

Now if only they would all turn out this well!

Chicken Fillets with Spring Onions and Dijon Mustard sauce

Okay. I know. The first thing you're going to say is "Where are the spring onions? How can you make a dish called Chicken Fillets with Spring Onions and Mustard Sauce, and not have any visible spring onions?"

A fair question. You see, there were spring onions. But then they kinda' got burnt, as did everything else, and the resulting required scraping of the frypan didn't really leave much in the way of .... well .... anything.

I will say that the chicken did have a lovely mustard flavour. It blended in quite nicely with the chargrilled flavour. And everyone ate theirs. Except me. But that's because I'm sick. I have tonsilitis and believe me, when your throat feels like it's got a machete running wild in it every time you swallow, eating kinda' drops down on the list of important things.

But I think I'm not totally blameless for messing this one up. Why do these recipe books say "cook chicken on high heat" in one sentence, and then in the very next sentence, say "remove chicken and place spring onions in pan, cooking on medium for 1 minute."?

It takes more than a couple of seconds for the temperature of the hotplate to go from high to medium. Nowhere in that recipe did it say "remove pan from heat until your hotplate has cooled down!" Nowhere I tell you. So I don't feel totally useless.

But I'm getting there.

Tiger Wraps

Okay, so now I'm getting desperate. Now you see what I've become when I can no longer think up exciting and nutritious meal ideas for my starving family.

Actually, this was daughter number one's idea. For lunch, she wanted a wrap. A wrap being the gorgeous mountain rice bread that one usually packs with tasty and satisfying fillings like meat and salad.

"I want it like a tiger" she said.

"A tiger?"

"Yes. Stripey. Like a tiger."

"Okay" I said. "Just how do you make it stripey?"

"With nutella and peanut butter" she said. "In a stripe pattern."

And she proceeded to alternate stripes of nutella and peanut butter onto her slice of bread. Yes, with the same knife.

It obviously tasted good though. She ate it before I'd even put the lid back on the peanut butter. Now if only I could get her to eat vegetables as quickly.

Brussels Sprouts (as requested!)

Yes, I couldn't believe it either. My vegetable-hating daughter requested brussels sprouts.

I must admit, I'm not a big fan of them. If it's a choice between eating brussels sprouts or say, allowing myself to be suspended by my feet over a crocodile-infested swamp, I'd definitely choose the sprouts. But generally, I tend to politely pass them by in the supermarket.

And so, you can imagine my surprise when daughter number 1 points to them and says "Mummy, what are those green things?"

Green things? I thought. Why is she interested in green things in the fruit and vegie section? That's not normal.

"They're called brussels sprouts sweetie" I said, not entirely certain I wasn't dreaming.

"Can we try them?" she asked.

Okay. Now I know I must be dreaming.

"Oh, for a minute there I thought you said, can we try them" I answered.

"I did" she said. "So can we?"

"Oh, well, yeah, sure we can." This can't be happening. Next she'll be asking for pumpkin.

I drove home from the supermarket rejoicing in the fact that my 6 year old had finally accepted vegetables into her diet! I also drove home in a panic because I had no idea how to cook brussels sprouts!

Luckily, my culinary knight-in-shining-armour (aka my husband), came to the rescue. Is there nothing this man cannot cook? When dinnertime finally came, we excitedly placed the little fellas' on the table. She looked at them and her pretty face immediately formed into an expression that you'd really rather not see when you've just served up food.

"They smell funny" she said.

"Yes but they taste delicious" I replied, hoping that this would be the only time I would ever lie to her. "Are you ready to try one?"

"Of course" she said.

She took the tiniest bite. She tried to smile. Her little face wrinked up.

"Yuk! They're awful!"

"They're not awful darling! They're delicious!" I sang.

"Delectable!" my husband crooned.

"Mouth-watering!" I exclaimed.

"No, they're disgusting!" she said. "I'm not eating them."

"We love them!" we both sang in unison, chewing away cheerfully.

Luckily we have perfected the art of moving food around a plate to give the impression that we are in fact, eating it.

Next time, I think I'll go vegie shopping alone.