King's Daughter's Kitchen

Well before my Grandma showed me how to bake bread or I took Home Economics in high school, our parents left me in charge of my three younger sisters and went off somewhere. On this particular day, I woke up and found them gone again. As any responsible sixth grader would do, I set about making breakfast.

I tried to fix cereal, none. Milk, none. Toast, none. Butter, none. I found eggs, a pan, some Koolaid and sugar. I looked in the cupboard where Mom had meticulously labeled everything with the labelmaker for some cooking oil. I found a tall, orange Tupperware container with a pour lid. I opened it and sniffed it and looked at it. It looked like cooking oil and didn’t smell funky. That must be it.

I poured the oil in the pan and set it very low. I didn’t want to be in trouble for burning the house down.

I cracked all the eggs into a  bowl, stirred them, poured them into the pan, and stirred ’til they were done, like Julia Child on tv. Then I served them up in Tupperware bowls. Everybody said the eggs tasted really funny, but washed them down with the Koolaid as we ate them. That’s when I figured out my mistake. I should have tasted the stuff in the orange container with no label. Corn syrup. I made scrambled eggs and corn syrup.