Rubber Eggs...

"Argie"
"Yes friend"
"I've told you that I don't really like eggs, right?"
"...Fantastic."

And so begins our first attempt at this project. Not only does Mara not really like eggs, but she's been nauseous for the last three days. I could tell that this was going to be a great afternoon.

It started off easily enough, I made the mashed potatoes while Mara tried to take a nap on the couch due to her afore mentioned nauseous/tiredness. After nap time, Mara came in and seasoned the potatoes and we were ready to get this party started.

(Mara would like it to be known for the record that she thought we should be using instant mashed potatoes, as they gave it an added touch of period-correct credibility. But if I'm eating this crap, it damn well better have actual mashed potatoes.)



We piped the potatoes around the casserole and down the center, making two empty hollows where the eggs will go.



In the hollows we layered green taco sauce, then Monterrey Jack cheese, then the eggs.

It looked nasty, but what can you do? It was then into the oven with the nasty egg/potato dish.

17 minutes later, with the egg whites looking like disgusting globs of white sliminess, we decide to let it cook a bit longer. Little did we know that no amount of cooking was really going to help the baked eggs and mashed potatoes. When we took it out, we spent a long while staring at it in silence.

Finally Mara reached for a plate, grabbed a spoon and courageously scooped up her half. I followed suit and then sat with her on the couch to begin the tasting portion of the evening.

What can be said of the taste...

The mashed potatoes were quite lovely actually, especially the bites that had the taco sauce and cheese in them. But the eggs, OH the eggs!! I think it can best be described by this song we came up with:

--To the tune of "Sexyback" by J.T.--

I've got a stomach ache (yeah)
It must have been something that I ate (yeah)
I need to scrape this crap off of my plate (yeah)
It's too gross for even Martha to save
"take it to the trash!"
Rubber Eggs
You're freakin nasty get up out my face...

Yeah, that's as far as we got on the song. We figured a dish as gross as this didn't really deserve a whole verse and chorus. We scraped our plates and then went to a restaurant up the street for a chicken sandwich and tomato basil soup.

And, so ends our very first recipe in the Polyester Gourmet Project....until next time!

The First

The Polyester Gourmets

Who:

While all twenty-something girls would like to think that their lives are something similar to a mix between a "Sex In The City" episode and Martha Stewart's kitchen, the truth is a far cry from that fantasy. In reality, we're sitting on our couches, next to our cats, sipping on a glass of cheap wine, stuffing our faces with take-out Chinese food while watching those episodes of "Sex in the City." This experiment is an attempt to bring a little excitement into our lives....something to look forward too in the never-ending work week.

Mara (not her real name) spends eight hours of her day working behind the desk at a state agency staring at Excel sheets. She thinks she may expire from the excitement of it all at any moment. Other than not using the education her parents paid for; she enjoys reading, music, and sampling fine goat cheese.

By day, Argie (also not her real name) works at a semi dead-end secretarial job under the most fabulous florescent lights money can buy. She loves all things Bon Jovi, the Yankees, dirty martinis and has a penchant for argyle and shoes.

What:

Some years ago, Mara's grandmother gave her several old recipe boxes. Among the collection was an oddly-shaped puke-yellow box with peeling faux-folk stickers on the outside. (Incidentally, Argie's mother owned the same recipe box. It seems that every woman with a subscription to Good Housekeeping in 1973 was a member of the Recipe Club.) But the outside of this humble yellow box is nothing compared to what it houses.

The first thing that hits you is the smell, like walking into a dark, dank basement. Then you notice that it holds the many yummy delights of the 1970s kitchen like a Frankfurter Crown and Creamed Shellfish in Rice Ring. We were oddly fascinated, like looking at a car accident on the side of a highway. We pondered, "How could people each such things!?" Were these recipes the reason for the fall of civilization as we knew it, or merely a canary in the coal mine? There was only one way to find out... to travel into the heart of darkness itself.

We were going to make all of the recipes, exactly as they were described and write up our reflections on them.

The Rules:

1. All recipes must be made exactly as they are written, no substitutions.
2. They must be tasted by both Argie and Mara (or any other poor pathetic bystander we
can get our hands on.)
3. You must consume at least one full bite minimum of each dish...believe us when we say
that you will come to understand why.

The New York Times food critics, we are not. But hey, these recipes weren't created by Bocuse either.