Prison Break Buttermilk Cornbread

Imagine you're Michael Scofield. Imagine your significant other is Michael Scofield. Imagine Michael Scofield loves you and loves you right...

Sorry. Distracted. So, you're Michael Scofield, and you're a wealthy structural engineer, architect, something like that, and your estranged older brother, Whatshisname, is slated for execution for a crime he didn't commit. What do you do? You grab the plans to the prison, have yourself completely tatted up, full sleeves, the whole nine, with blueprints and information on how to break your brother out of prison hidden in plain view on your rockin' body. You pretend to rob a bank, shoot a couple of bullets in the air, plead guilty and get sent to the same prison where your bro is awaiting the needle so you can bust him out. You meet D.B. Cooper, you schmooze a prison doctor, you enlist the help of one of the planet's best actors, you implicate your sweet but maybe not so bright short-timer celly, and you get the hell outta Dodge. Too bad you don't leave the series at that point...

Anyway, life could have been a lot easier if you'd just made this buttermilk cornbread and thrown it against the wall, thrown it at any guards. Pfft. It's likely bulletproof. Yeah, it's not the same as a file baked in a cake, but they've got metal detectors and shit now. This cornbread is a lethal weapon on its own.

Golden? Uh, sort of. Apparently my oven has hot spots, so the cornbread got a little, um, brick like and too brown on one side. (Note to self: buy oven thermometer and turn food halfway through.)

Day 1: Cornbread a little dry but no too dry to choke down with tons of butter.

Day 2: It's what's for breakfast with a little maple syrup artificially-brown HFCS.

Day 3: Whoa. Is this just stone-ground cornmeal dumped in a Pyrex dish?

Day 4: Munchies! Shit. All I've got is that damned cornbread.

Day 5: Son resorts to eating it because, well, that's all we've got.

Day 6: Hard enough to sharpen knives

Day 7: Yes, we still have some in case of nuclear winter or zombie attack...

Meatwad

What the hell is THIS, you ask? It's Meatwad! Okay, it's really not out to fight crime; it's not hassled by Master Shake. It's not cute, but it is unintelligible. It's also not pink. I blame the twirly energy saving light bulbs, a cheap-ass digital camera and my inability to correct said camera settings for the weird yellow glow those twirly bulbs cast on us. We look jaundiced, so it makes sense that this meatwad should look undercooked. But it's not! It's truly a sickly pale corpse-like color. Yummy!

This is bacon-wrapped, free-form art smothered in with a dollop of dipping sauce over glaze. I know you're thinking that's ketchup, but it's not. It's glaaaaze reduced to a dipping sauce made from ketchup, some brown sugar and vinegar. And dipping sauce? Pfft. We're lazy and we just pour that stuff on top. It's fucking MEATLOAF! Meatloaf should not be accompanied by dipping sauce. That would just set the wrong tone for dinner as we dine on the sofa and play Ninja Gaiden 2 while trying to keep the sauce off of our controllers.

That green stuff is the vegetable we serve with meatwad. It's poorly chopped flat-leaf parsley. And if you're a fan of The Gipper, you know that ketchup is a vegetable, too. If it's good enough for subsidized school lunch programs, it's good enough for us!