Three Strikes and You’re Out

Sometimes I feel cursed. At Christmas I made a batch of Parmesan Twists, a rich cheesy nibbley, and in my haste decided not to twist them. While this omission didn’t alter the taste or texture, the resulting log-like forms were less than inspiring. Instead of enticing spirals, I’d spent a precious pre-holiday hour creating a pan of appetizers with all the visual appeal of discarded bread crusts. Strike 1.

The Parmesan Straights were so nondescript I put them in the basement freezer and forgot all about their existence until last week when we were forced to defrosted the wretched appliance. While everything else got returned to the freezer — after I’d chipped away the last of the ice that had formed because the door didn’t get closed properly, but that’s another story — the cheese sticks got left behind and quietly defrosted. Strike 2.

No worries, I thought. I’m going to a potluck and will bring these along with the green salad, gourmet vinaigrette and chocolate ginger cheesecake. A few minutes in the oven and they’ll be a piping-hot distraction from all the snow. Our host agreed and graciously popped them in with his stuffed mushrooms. Minutes later, when smoke filled the kitchen, I realized my appetizers had been placed on the top rack with the stove set to broil. Strike 3.

This is not what I envisioned serving guests when I slaved away in December.

But then again, I hadn’t planned on bringing rancid salad dressing to the party either. I’m not sure who apologized more throughout the evening, me or the host.

I was going to provide you with the recipe for Parmesan Twists, but in light of its bad karma, I’ll link you back to the Pecan Cheesies instead. You should be fine as long as no fobbing, full-gorged pignuts are about.