Some People Never Learn

     The recipe itself was simple.  That in itself should have been a red flag telling me to go back outside and find something else to do.

     The pineapple was calling my name.  It had been sitting on the counter for.......well, let's just say for quite a while.  I had great intentions for it.  I also figured that it was like most fruit that doesn't grow in the great Midwest, it wasn't ripe when it was picked.  Kind of like the butcher when he tells you the meat is really at its peak when it is brown.  I believe that, but I do hide the meat if my youngest son-in-law is here.  He has no idea some of the things he has eaten in this house that had an expired expiration date on it.

      My husband really enjoyed this dish, the first time I made it, so rather than see the pineapple go to waste, aka the compost bin, I decided I could show him my adoration with a second rendition of 'scalloped pineapple'.  

     The recipe called for five other ingredients, besides the pineapple, and I was pretty sure I had them.  That should have been another red flag waving along with the little voice inside my head saying, "But look, you just got the kitchen cleaned up."

     "This won't take long."  I told the voice.  

     I gathered the butter, flour, brown sugar, milk and the biscuit mix.  Hmm, were there two cups of biscuit mix?  I wasn't sure but would deal with it when I got to that part of the recipe.  I melted the butter in the microwave and got ready to add the brown sugar.

     This was an unopened small box of brown sugar.  I have no idea how long it had been sitting in the cabinet but I don't think that brown sugar ever expires so it would be OK.  I opened the box, pulled out the sealed bag of brown sugar and it was as hard as a rock.  That may not be the right analogy, more like hardened tungsten steel.  This small dark brown rectangle of solidified sugar could have been used for a lethal weapon.  I pounded it on the counter and couldn't even put a dent in it.

     The small voice was whistling in the background.  I went to the drawer full of knives and pulled out the Wonder Knife.  You know, the kind you see on TV where they cut a concrete block with one and paper thin slices of a tomato with another.  I must have thought the Wonder Knife to be a true wonder and fell for the "if you order right now, we'll throw in a second knife for free" because I have two.  

     Armed with said Wonder Knife, I calculated how much to hack off the end of the brick of brown sugar.  The blade barely cut the surface, no matter how much pressure I applied.  Oh, the Wonder Knife may be able to slice and dice a tomato in mid air, and if I'm feeling like Edward Scissorhands, I can use both to try that, but it was no match for this weapon of mass destruction that was sitting on the counter.  I considered taking it down to the wood shop and running it through the band saw.

     The voice was clearing its throat, "Why not put it in the microwave?  That should soften it up."

     I put it in the microwave, twice.  If anything, it was harder than before.  I finally "googled" for the solution.  The answer was to place a moist paper towel in with the brown sugar, cover it, then nuke it.  I did that, twice, and finally was able to break off a piece that sort of resembled 1/4 cup.  I placed this chunk in the first part of the batter and used my potato masher to help smush it up.  There were still chunks, but I figured if it set a while, it would soften even more.

     The second part of the recipe called for more brown sugar, the biscuit mix and milk.  I chiseled off another piece and put it in the milk thinking surely it would dissolve in a liquid.  I proceeded to measure out the biscuit mix and only had half of what I needed.  
There was a box of pancake mix in the cabinet and at that point I really didn't care, it would have to do.

     I added the biscuit/pancake mix to the milk and proceeded to whisk it together.  There were chunks of brown sugar the size of #57 gravel (nickel and quarter size).  Exasperated at this point, I plunged my hands into the batter and squished the chunks until they were at least small enough that they wouldn't break a tooth.  The first part of the batter was no different, so I hand smashed that too.

     I finally got all the ingredients into the baking dish, threw it in the oven and slammed the door.  The voice was sitting in the chair, picking its teeth with the Wonder Knife, staring off into space.  "Don't even go there.", I told it.  I should have known better, the kitchen always looks like a battle zone when I have a touch of baking madness hit me.  

     The scalloped pineapple actually turned out to be pretty tasty.  If I invite you over for supper, bring a covered dish, preferably with something in it, and I'll go pick up some fried chicken.  

     If you need me, I'll be out in the yard.