Mystery Breakfast Seeds
My husband purchased a few bulk seeds from a store in an attempt to find something he could throw on the property just for fun to see if it would grow. Upon closer inspection, the tiny pearl-like objects resembled no seed he’d ever seen, so I inherited 2 cups of mystery food. Yes, I cooked some of it. Once it was clear that the tiny lumps weren’t cut out to be breakfast cereal, I added a few pieces of turkey sausage to entice the dogs. Two of them turned up their noses. The fat dog has no such standards, making quick work of a concoction only my mother would have eaten.
Why was the flavor so familiar? After dropping a box of jello on the floor, it hit me. No, not the jello—the name of the mystery breakfast seeds: Tapioca. Fortunately, it was the kind that cooks up quickly. How would I know that? I still have teeth.
The next test was to make tapioca pudding, so I mixed a can of evaporated milk with approximately 2 tablespoons of cornstarch, 3 tablespoons of tapioca, about ¼ cup sugar, and ½ tsp salt, adding a little vanilla once it jelled. Like making cheese with goat urine, this brand of tapioca pudding is an acquired taste.
I caution you not to try this recipe until you understand the risks. My mother’s idea of spaghetti was to cook the pasta until it was too soft, drain it without rinsing, open a can of tomatoes and dump them in. If you’re expecting a “what next,” you’ll be sorely disappointed. Thank God for garlic salt and Parmesan cheese. If you’re still not convinced to abstain, there was the time she made oatmeal with cinnamon. If you watched the zeal with which she ate, you’d think it was the best ever. The problem? It wasn’t cinnamon. She’d used curry powder and couldn’t tell the difference. I doubt even the fat dog would touch that particular mystery breakfast.
If you’re not convinced by now, you might consider entering a cockroach-eating contest to win that python you’ve been coveting all these years. Perhaps they’ll be kind enough to offer you some curry powder for flavoring.
