I am a pretty good cook.
I can make homemade ravioli with four cheese. I can make a fabulous mushroom sage-butter sauce for pasta.
My meatballs have made grown men weep.
When I bake bread, the smell alone can change your view of life.
I have been defeated by quinoa.
A few short years ago, I had never heard of this miracle grain. I was perfectly happy to go through life without it, until I tried it at a High School Reunion Weekend. My friend Karen made a quinoa salad that was so delicious, the mere memory of it causes “yummy noises” to emerge from my watering mouth.
So I asked for the recipe. Of course I did. I am the woman who recreated a dinner of seafood risotto over smoked mozzarella after eating it at a local restaurant.
(Mine was better.)
So I tried to make the quinoa recipe. Karen’s was crisp, and fresh and flavorful.
Mine was a bowl of slimy little wormy things with a few bites of cashew and some bok choy. The quinoa grains looked like baby sperm, with big heads and long tails. YeeeeeUk.
My friend assured me that quinoa was easy to cook, and really delicious! So I tried again.
I asked for some advice. All the cool foodies were into quinoa. I had to figure this out!!!
My friend Maureen told me to make sure that I rinsed my quinoa thoroughly before I cooked it. So I did.
I ended up with a pot of slimy little wormy things sticking to the bowl and just waiting for some flavor. I added salt. I added pepper. I added fresh basil. And lemon. And nuts. I took a bite.
I threw it out. Bleh. Blehblehblehblehbleh. It was sticky and a little oozy and slimy and yuck.
What the hell?
So I decided to give it up. I was simply not cut out for quinoa. I returned to making brown rice with roasted veggies and homemade chicken stock. Yum!
Then I opened my cabinets and found two bags of quinoa: one red, one white. Oh, oh. I had already paid for them! I HAD to use them! So I did a google search. “how to cook quinoa without the slimy little sperm tails making it gross.”
Or something like that.
I found a recipe that said, “Do not rinse”. Instead, it told me to lightly brown the
sperm quinoa in olive oil before adding veggies and stock. I tried it.
Huzzah! It was delightful! Dry and firm and packed with nutritious deliciousness! Yay, me! Paul and I enjoyed it alongside our roast chicken, feeling both healthy and hip as we swallowed it down. I was feeling so. smug.
Until I tried the exact same recipe two weeks later. Exactly the same. Precisely the exact same ingredients, cooking technique, temperature, time.
Exactly. The. Same.
And I ended up with a bowl full of slimy little spermy wormies. I took one bite, gagged a little, and gulped down a swig of wine.
What the hell.
This process has repeated itself four or five times now. One delicious, healthy side dish followed by two dinners that were nearly ruined by the slime patrol. Another fabulously nutty salad, followed by a couple of tossed in the trash slime-oh-rific followups.
So I have come to the conclusion that there is a vast international quinoa conspiracy, no doubt lead by left-wing activists who hate America. I have come to realize that all the little dry curled up quinoa soldiers send coded messages at night, telling each other about the latest plan to defeat the meatball maven.
When they get the signal, they all unfurl those super spermy little tails and start to secrete ancient Aztec slime sauce, thereby ruining any plan for a yummy dinner. In this way, they surely plan to take over the world.
So I am hereby announcing that I am giving up the quest for the quintessential quinoa. I am switching back to nice cheesy, fattening, compliant risotto.
I know when I’ve been beaten.