Argo cornstarch, baking powder, baking soda, barilla pasta, Bertolli extra-virgin olive oil, black pepper, Bob's Red Mill, Borden, brown sugar, Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, Campbell’s soups, casserole, chicken breast, Chiquita, Clabber Girl, College Inn, Cool Whip, crock pot, Daisy sour cream, dessert, Dijon mustard, Dole, domino sugar, eat, Eggland's Best eggs, food, Gold Medal flour, gordon bleu, granulated sugar, Green Giant, Hershey, Hodgkin’s Mill, Italian bread crumbs, Jell-O, Jif peanut butter, Johnsonville, keebler, Kerrygold Swiss cheese, kosher salt, Kraft, Kraft mayonnaise, land o lakes butter, Libby, McCormick spices, Morton salt, Pam Cooking Spray, Pepperidge Farm, Philadelphia cream cheese, Powdered sugar, recipe, Ritz crackers, Sara Lee, Sargento, sliced deli ham, slow cooker, Thorn Apple Valley, Toll House, TruMoo milk, tyson, vanilla, vanilla extract, Vlasic, Wesson vegetable oil, whipped topping
I took a lot of psychology classes in college because I found it interesting to learn how people’s minds worked. There was this one activity where everyone in class had to bring something that described him or her. One of my classmates, the “heartthrob” in class, was called first. He brought his backpack in front and took out a plastic bag. He didn’t open it, saying it would stink. It happened to be cordon bleu. Something that he bought two weeks ago and never took out from his backpack.
He said he was like the cordon bleu. He “tasted” so good with all the goodness inside him, but everyone always appreciated just his looks. And because of that, what was inside him remained hidden. It would soon rot because no one dared to look at what’s in there. All I could say was—I’d never look at cordon bleu the same way again.
Photo courtesy of Food.com. Recipe courtesy of Mr.Food.
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