As you know, real bread is not my friend (Exhibit A, Valentine's Day Carbohydrate Hangover) but Medifast Bread is not only my friend, it might be my best friend. This is especially true since my own particular specimen of man's best friend has moved down a few notches on my "favorite things" list after today. But we'll get to that.
I used the bread recipe Paul (Pride) gave us from his blog, only using the Cream of Chicken instead of the oatmeal.
So there I am happily whisking my egg whites, with my son watching some cartoon character lifelessly from the couch. I let the dog out just before I started, since she had that "you know if you make me wait I'm going to leave you a little present in the dining room" look.
My yard is filled with snow. Tons and tons of snow. It's up to the dog's chest. But that's her problem, right? Too bad, so sad for you, fido (Ok, well, really her name is Pickles). You shoulda been born a human. Until you can use the toilet, you're stuck with whatever's going on in the yard. Out she goes flying (literally airborne) off the deck into the snow!
Back to whisking, whisking. Happy, happy. Bark. Bark. Time to let the dog back in. I put down my whisk, walk out to the florida room (which is an absurd thing to call it in 29 degree weather, but whatever) and I open the slider for Princess Pickles. In she runs, like a big black furry mess coated in powdery snow. Nothing out of the ordinary. Snow flies every which way as she bounds into the house.
Back to whisking, and mixing.
"MOM!" my son screams " I SMELL PICKLES' BUTT!"
Joy.
I stop and sniff the air. Yup. He's right. That's Pickles' butt alright (Don't ask me how I know). I put down the whisk and I run to the dog and inspect her. I'm down on all fours sniffing around her body trying to determine the source of the foul odor. Is it this foot? No. This one? No. This one? Oh. Yup. It's that one.
Meanwhile, my egg whites are still sitting on the counter in a bowl.
The dog has stepped in her own poo. It's so hard for her to walk around in that high snow that she probably had no clue it was there. That's what I get for being completely insensitive to the woes of the medium size canine who has no choice but to evacuate in a snowy yard.
Up we go to the bathroom, where I give the dog a bath while my son dances around laughing at her.
Shampoo, rinse, repeat. Dry. DONE.
I arrive downstairs to discover the foul odor is not gone. You know what that means.
Residue. Glory!
My eggwhites are still sitting on the counter.
So I take out my Swiffer mop and I start mopping the floors with antibacterial cleaner where ever I think she may have walked. Hopefully I got whatever evidence she left, but I fear the team from CSI might tell me otherwise. Please don't invite them over. I spray down the couch which was covered with a blanket (thank GAWD) and I put the blanket in the washer, along with the bathroom mat and the towel I used to dry the princess.
Finally, there's no odor. Not being one to be repulsed from food by anything, let alone something as ordinary as a little dog poo all over my house, off I go to finish whisking. Oh, and yes, I washed my hands. Repeatedly.
I made the mixture, using just 1/4 tsp of baking powder so it wouldn't be too salty. In goes the Cream of Chicken. Micro for 3.5 minutes. And?
This particular baking experience was a utter fail, from the whole dog poo fiasco that occurred during the whisking to the culmination which produced a flat chickeny pancake thing. Not only was it flat, but man, was it ugly.
A flat, chickeny pancake. Yuck. But I ate that sucker. I ate every last bit of that disappointing meal, and I even picked the little crusty bits from the bowl.
Nothing's getting between me and my Medifast.