If I was on Iron Chef? And this was Battle Pantry Cleanout? I would go down hard to Iron Chef Sakai. (I might still be able to take Chen.)

Back in the day (um...a while ago, okay?) when I actually enjoyed throwing together a meal, I would whip up these little hand pies filled with meat or veggies and they would be great. Every time.

I mean it. I had a wicked ability to make savory turnovers. Give me an onion, some garlic, some spinach or tomatoes, some cheese, leftover ham, turkey, whatever. I could whip it into yumminess.

I pawed through the fridge tonight with increasing desperation. I moved to the pantry. Then to the freezer. Damn. Who bought all this weird food? Why do I have four boxes of Bulghur Wheat? How am I out of both salt AND sugar?

Who's doing the shopping? Where is all the FOOD?

Ahem.

I grabbed half an onion, a red bell pepper that was looking slightly past its prime, a half used jar of pesto sauce, and my giant skillet. While the onion and pepper sauteed in some olive oil, I rummaged in the pantry. Ah! Water chestnuts! Okay. Freezer. Um, um, um... frozen spinach and frozen ground turkey.

Can anyone say "hand pies?"

I cooked up a conglomeration of all the above ingredients and then made a dough using bread flour and water. Then I tasted the turkey mix and it needed salt. Hi, I'm out of salt. I added soy sauce. Tasted again. It needed something else, too. I grabbed a container of cream cheese out of the fridge and added a generous dollop of that, as well. Because soy sauce, pesto and cream cheese are really a surprising mix, and I thought that would impress the judges.

I also added a splash of beer to my dough, because THAT is fun. Beer is whimsical and fun, in dough.

I made a bunch of charming little dough pockets, stuffed with my super fancy mixture, that I decided had a verdant feel of spring. I tossed them in the oven and puttered around in the yard with the kids. Upon my return to the kitchen I was rewarded with a foul cloud of stank.

Everything about my darling little hand pies screamed "disaster!" They were oozing black sludge, they smelled really nasty and the kids immediately announced their preference to eat their own arms rather than be in the same house as the verdant hand pies.

Stoic, I sliced one of them open and the smell made me weak in the knees. It was awful.

Moments later, I loaded the kids into the car, my faith in my ability to produce savory goodness shaken. We cruised through the drive-thru at McDonalds, and no one was forced to consume their own appendages.

Tonight at least...tomorrow could bring on a whole new rash of bad menu items. I have got to go shopping. Via Safeway.com, baby!