Back when I was living on Gold Dust Street during my last two years of high school, I often cooked for my parents. I grew up observing what went on in the kitchen and got pretty good at throwing things together and coming up with a good meal. Like my mother, I have always had an instinct for mixing flavors and having an idea of the final outcome. We both were really good about finding substitutes for out of stock ingredients that wouldn't compromise the taste of a dish.

Having skills in the kitchen doesn't guarantee that every dish turned out as planned. There is one particular disastrous meal that really sticks out in my memory. My parents liked to tease me about it for the rest of their lives. It became another of those "One time, Jimmie..." story traditions.

My parents were out somewhere doing something. I don't remember those details. All I know is that I was supposed to have dinner ready when they got home. I wasn't given any usable instructions like "make a meatloaf", "make tuna casserole", or "make spaghetti". To me, that meant I would get to be creative and come up with something new.

When I checked the fridge, I saw that we had a purple cabbage, some onions, and a pound of ground beef. I also knew that we had some rice. I decided to make something "sort of like" fried rice. I chopped the cabbage and the onions. I threw them in a skillet with some bacon grease and the ground beef. I cooked it until the meat was completely browned. Then I dumped all of that in a big pot, added rice and water, put a lid on it, and set a timer for the time it would take for the rice to cook.

When the timer went off, I discovered that the rice had not all cooked. No problem. I added more water, put the lid back on, and set the timer again. This time, when it was finished, all of the rice had cooked. Some of it was nice and firm, but a lot of it had turned to mush. As I stirred everything together, it turned completely blue. Everything, even the meat, was the same pale blue color. It looked like what I imagined blue pig slop would look, if there ever was blue pig slop.

We didn't throw food away in the Baker home. If it was at all edible, it got served. When the folks got home, I sat a bowl of my creation in front of each of them. Dad took one look at his bowl and asked, "What the hell is this blue shit?" Now, in our house language like Dad offered up that night was absolutely not permitted by any member of the family. Especially not at the dinner table. He was in trouble with Mom for that. But, just the same, we all sat quietly and ate my blue masterpiece. It actually tasted okay. That wasn't the issue.

One time a while later, Mom announced that I was the one who had cooked dinner. Dad grimaced and said, "I sure hope he didn't make that bluesh again." And, that my friends, is what my wonderful blue disaster was called from that point on- Bluesh!

What goes around comes around. Jared, my second son, is just like me. He also has a knack for throwing things together. Usually, he ends up with something really special. But I have eaten a few of his disasters, too. Hey, it happens to everyone. I know people who can't even cook an edible dish from a recipe.