death to bisquick

With five words, my hopes were dashed. My heart began beating erratically, my palms broke out in a sweat, and I was suddenly, irrevocably gripped with a fear so great, I considered chaining myself to the couch to physically prevent the terror from becoming true. And yet, my courtesy-drippin' Southern blood prohibited me from backing out on an RSVP. All day, the five words hovered like some gut-grinding harbinger of nausea... the five words promised with pride by the hostess of a church dinner I'd agreed to attend:

"Tuna Ring with Cheese Sauce."

What was this fearsome beast? What onerous textures and tastes awaited any who partook of such a revoltingly named creation? A TUNA RING. My stomach, so open and accepting of the vast quantities of food I feed it, closes its mouth in fury. A TUNA RING. It sounds like a dolphin's vomit. A jello-molded fishy circlet. The punchline for an inappropriate joke. For heaven's sake, the primary ingredient is Bisquick.

I suppressed my disgust, put on a dress, and carried my dish of gratin dauphinoise (recipe to come... a decadent success!) to the church dinner so I could count on SOMETHING edible. And an hour later, I was mechanically putting a slice (yes, a slice) of tuna ring on my plate and spooning something that looked an awful lot like paste over it. Ironically, the paste was the most delicious part.

Tuna Ring is a mysterious concoction involving tuna salad stuffed into a circular shape, covered in a tasteless dough, and drenched in gluey cheese sauce (which also has Bisquick in it. My gosh.) It is served warm and sliced like a horrifying fishy Bundt cake. Here's the recipe...

(Psyche.)