Tuna faux pas

It’s pretty well established that I’m a walking kitchen disaster, but it took years of faux pas to learn this. You know, it’s little things, like ketchup plus microwave equals explosions. Frying bacon on the stovetop will smoke up your entire house and leave you smelling like a short-order cook. Professionals know what they’re doing when they make “blackened chicken;” yours, honey, is just burnt. And there’s a reason the Sweet Potato Queens call their recipe “Danger Pudding.” Yikes.

But probably the worst (and most embarrassing) kitchen disaster came one fateful Saturday, when I invited our next-door neighbors over for lunch, tuna salad sandwiches.

First, I fixed half sandwiches for the kids. The youngest, a 2-year-old, took one bite, screamed and ran to the garbage and spit it out. The other two wouldn’t touch theirs.

“What’s wrong with them?” I thought. “I thought they liked tuna salad.”

Stupid me, didn’t see a red flag when it was waving right in my face. I made sandwiches for the men next, and my neighbor started eating his but wouldn’t make eye contact with me. My husband took one bite and just looked at me.

“What’s in this?” He asked.

Finally, I tasted it and realized what the problem was. Apparently, the mayonnaise was right next to the horseradish on the door of the fridge — and I didn’t grab the mayonnaise.