Tuesday, September 1, 2009

I Hate Goulash

Goulash is in fact a Hungarian soup or stew This is similar to what my Mother and Wife (apparently) believes is Goulash. Goulash is in fact this soaked in a broth.

She swears she doesn't read this blog but since telling it to her face has done me no good Maybe by posting this the message will get out.

Many a man has complained that a wife's cooking is not up to the standards of his Mothers and many a wife has countered with cook it yourself. Let me just get this out right now. The Contessa's cooking most nights is a million times better than my mothers. My mom can bake like nobody's business but she can not by (her own admission) cook for shit. However for whatever reason my wife takes cooking advice from my Mother about what I like and how to cook it. I have told her that this woman whom I dearly love has no idea what she is talking about on the subject of cooking.

Now The Contessa has taking some meals that I have formerly disliked such as roast and Potatoes and made me a believer now that I know that Roast was meant to be juicy and the potatoes were not meant to be lethal weapons but I never have and never will like Goulash.

I know my mom swears I love her goulash but really it's...well godawful. In the first place what my mom calls Goulash and what is in fact goulash are two different things. In the second place if my Mom KNEW how to make goulash I still would dislike it. The Idea of a mixture of pasta, Meat and Soup may do it for some but for me it's just...nasty. It smells bad and tastes worse. I think sometimes people forget that despite the Name the closest I have ever been to Budapest is Brantford Ontario. I have told the Contessa this and still she insists I like Goulash cause My Mother said so. Wouldn't I know this for myself?

Now I have no doubt the Contessa couldn't get creative and come up with something that involves the ingredients of Goulash and make a very tasty meal but do not ask my Mother for advice for God sakes. Thursday is my Mother's 65th Birthday Friday I am taking both the Contessa and My Mother out to eat. I am going to tell them You stop telling her what I like to eat and you stop listening to this woman. Of course all that will do is buy me two weeks with out Goulash.


et said...

I gotta say, Count...that looks to me like no goulash I've ever seen.

Thank heavens my late MiL never tried to tell me what to feed ET Spouse. Dinner at her house was a scary adventure into overcooked beef and vegetables completely devoid of their natural color thanks to what may have been literal hours of boiling.

My mom's cooking was also nothing to write home about. All you need to know about that was that I grew up in the Southwest U.S. and never so much as tasted Mexican food until I went away to college, and that in the Midwest! Nor Chinese, nor pizza (apart from post-choir-concert HS classmate outings). Rest her soul, but Mom gave "meat and potatoes" a bad name. Really.

I send you my sympathies for the goulash situation and hope for culinary relief in the offing.

Bon appetit!

Anonymous said...

You know that game where people stand in line and the first person whispers I heard Joe loves Suzanne but won't tell her and then the next person whispers it in the next persons ear etc etc etc and by the time it gets to the back of the line the message is I heard Sue loves Joann but she's ashamed of being a lesbian?

That's what I think happened here. My Dad's Mother was a first generation American from Hungary his Father was a immigrant from Hungary. There was a goulash recipe that came from Hungary and was passed to my Grandmother. my Grandmother made it and past it to my Mother and My Mother made it and passed on to The Contessa. And each time it's been passed it's lost something or been changed to where it no longer resembles anything close to what it did generations ago.

et said...

I get that. I remember having a fantastic goulash at a Halloween party in the 80s, hosted by a couple of whom the wife (and cook) was Austrian, and it was fabulous...but nary a trace of pasta to be seen. I expect in the original recipe it might have been spƤtzli instead? Kind of halfway between noodles and gnocchi?

Once you introduce elbow macaroni, unless you're making mac 'n' cheese, it's all downhill from there.

I don't miss the "cuisine" of my childhood one bit. I remember my Dad making what he called "cracker soup." Saltines crumbled into warm milk. EWWWWW!!!

You can see what turned me into a Food Network kind of gal. Massive overcompensation.

Anonymous said...

Pretending to be Ralph. Do you have any idea how fucking pathetic that makes you?

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