So the banana bread did not turn out okay. It's edible but I left it to cool for 10 minutes after I took it out of the oven (like the recipe said) and when I went to flip it out of the pan it split in half. The bottom layer stayed in the pan. I'm pretty sure I cooked it long enough. It stayed in there 20 minutes longer than the recipe said. This does not mean that my banana bread days are over. I will inevitably leave a whole bunch of bananas sitting on the counter until they start growing their own legs and just before they walk off I will whip them up into another baking disaster. I feel very inadequate in the kitchen. I do not cook. I have lots of trouble baking. I don't even go to the grocery store unless directed by the husband to pick up some last minute ingredient like salsa or bread and I usually buy the wrong kind anyway. I blame it all on the humidity. Why, I ask, have I not been able to bake a decent pie since I moved here? The humidity. I think that's valid. I think that I can blame the humidity for the multiple bread incidents also. Never you mind that my house is cooled and conditioned to a comfortable 72 degrees and free of any ounce of humid air. It's the humidity.
You know, I never cook. And by never, I mean that 363 days of the year my husband is responsible for putting food on the table. Those other two days? Well, one is occupied by the day when the husband asked me to put a pot of soup on the stove that he made the day before because he came home from work late. And the other day was when I made lasagne for me and Jerry when the husband was out of town. No, he wasn't out of town for just one night, but he had prepared food for us to eat while he was gone.
All this lack of talent and interest in the kitchen stems from a meal I prepared when I was trying to be all wifey, before Jerry was even born. I thought to myself, "Since I'm here all day while he's at work I'll just whip up a nice tuna noodle cassarole." We fondly refer to the dish now as "noodle cassarole," because I forgot to put the tuna in. It didn't taste bad, but my confidence in the kitchen was shot.
So, in the face of all this failure I at least pride myself on being able to clean the damn kitchen. I even do the thing that mom used to make us do that was so annoying - wipe the counters with warm soapy water (even if it means emptying the dirty water and filling the sink back up). I love warm soapy water.
The rest of my house is usually somewhat dusty and although it could use a daily vacuum, it's lucky if it gets a weekly one. My bathroom is dusty and a little crusty, but it's always wiped a bit when visitors are expected. I make my bed every day, but it does little to lessen the overbearing piles of crap all around my bedroom. But at least my kitchen is clean. Sparkly clean. Well, most of the time.
How do I make myself feel better about my lack of "full-time homemaker" skillz? Well, a lopsided slice of banana bread with a large pad or two of butterwon't hurt. It's waiting for me in the kitchen right now, and it is still a little bit warm.