Before I began this whole food-blogging thing, I had this kooky idea that I was a pretty good cook. Now that I have been scrupulously documenting my exploits, this is clearly and painfully not the case. I present to you Case Exhibit One: The Holiday Salad Catastrophe. Last weekend, Mr. Lemon and I had the occasion to go to our first post-child evening party. Without the child. Where there was ALCOHOL!

In my giddy anticipation, I chose to make Grandma Marguerite's Holiday Salad, an authentic 1950s-style piece of fine gelatin cookery. I remember my grandmother served this at all of my childhood holidays; sweet, light, and best of all, served with the meal so I could get a nice head-start on the dessert sugar buzz. The recipe is as follows:

1 pkg. lemon Jell-O
1/8 tsp. salt
2 small pkgs. cream cheese
1/2 c. finely cut celery
1/4 c. maraschino cherries
1/2 c. cut nuts
1 c. whipped cream
1 c. crushed drained pineapple (keep the juice)

Make Jell-O with pineapple juice and enough hot water to make 2 cups. Add salt. When mostly set, add other ingredients, then fold in whipped cream. Pour into a mold and chill until served.

I swear now in front of god and the Internet that I have, in the past, made this recipe with no trouble whatsoever.

OK, so. The trouble begins with the recipe. Note, for example, the lack of precise measurements. Exactly what SIZE package of Jell-O or cream cheese? Is that 1 c. crushed pineapple before or after it is drained? What kind of nuts, for heavens' sake?!? Nonetheless, I made my decisions and steamed onward. (8 oz. packages of cream cheese, 16 oz. of crushed pineapple measured after draining, and pistachios).

My first crucial error was in heating up the pineapple juice along with the hot water. Oops. Oh, well. Also I forgot to add the salt. Whatever. I mixed the cream cheese and all following ingredients (except the whipped cream!) while waiting for the Jell-O to set. (And what exactly is "mostly set," anyway?) This was a mistake, because it would have been way easier to get the cream cheese and Jell-O to blend together smoothly without the interference of lumpy bits of celery and pistachio.

Nonetheless. Full speed ahead.

I molded and chilled the salad. Then, in my single act of clear-headedness all day, I chose to bring the salad unmolded to the party. Brilliance! Genius!

Upon arriving to the party, we refrigerated the salad and then got the the fine, fine adults-only partytime. It was fantastic. There were Tiki gods and also spiced rum.

Much, much later, I determined that the time had come to unmold the salad. This is when the grim fist of Culinary Disaster began to tighten its dire clutches upon me. For the salad... it would not unmold. I hesitantly sprayed the mold with warm water, to no avail.

Then, my hostess, in a fit of inspiration, suggested we bathe the mold in a wok filled with warm water. What a superb idea! Surely this would solve our problems!

At this point, another guest entered the kitchen and gripped us in a compelling discussion of the sublime ugliness of a certain small child he was acquainted with. He captivated our rum-enahnced ears, and, more important, our full attention with the tragic plight of the unbeautiful baby.

Some time later, we remembered about the, you know, the salad. The gelatin-based salad. The one sitting in the wok of warm water, you know, that one?

You have to give us this: It unmolded very, very easily... and with it came a sea of ungelled goo, rivaling the melty bits of any ice cream cone you could care to name.

We quickly rechilled the salad, and the pool of liquid resolidified. When I sampled the salad a bit later in the evening, it tasted just fine. Not quite like Grandma Marguerite's, but not so far off, either. Of course, it looked really, really tragic.

The hostess assures me that some of the guests did, in fact, eat some of it after we made our shame-faced exit, somewhat before midnight.

But I think she's just being nice.

And I so do not deserve to have a food blog after that...

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