It was just one of those weeknights when we had a fridge and freezer full of food, a pantry packed to the gills, yet we had nothing to eat for dinner: Hamburger buns without burgers, bacon and sausage with one egg, hot dogs with zero condiments, a lovely roast that had not been defrosted, a pre-made lasagna that would take two hours to bake and it was already after six.
Normally this is something I wouldn’t notice because Jim has ALWAYS been the family cook, and a great one at that. But ever since his knee surgery, I have been trying to spend more time in the kitchen preparing dinners.
It’s not that I can’t cook – Jim and I joke that we make the perfect food couple because he can cook the main meal and I can make killer appetizers and to-die-for desserts.
Growing up, mom was always busy trying to get dinner on the table before dad came home from work, so there wasn’t a lot of spare time to teach my sister and I how to cook. Instead, mom spent her time with us before dinner teaching us how to make appetizers, or after dinner teaching us how to make desserts (our first recipe was the all-time favorite Nestle Tollhouse Cookie).
While Dawn and I graduated to brownies, cupcakes, tortes and whipped cream frosting, our interest in the main courses waned as we taste-tested batter and licked the bowls and spoons at a time before anyone was concerned about eating raw eggs and getting sick (we never did).
Back to dinner this evening, and I realize we are also in a bit of a dinner rut: No one really had a taste for anything in particular, but everyone definitely knew what they didn’t want. None of the old standbys sounded appealing, and no one could agree on what to order or where to order from.
Discovering some chicken, rice and a veggie, I was able to pull together a quick dinner fix, and was immediately reminded why I hate cooking dinner: After thirty minutes of prep time, clearing the table of backpack explosions and then setting the table, the meal itself lasted no longer than seven minutes, and everyone was gone.
Appetizers and desserts seem to be more appreciated: They are lingered over with cocktails, coffee and conversation. However, the actual meals, holiday meals in particular, that can take days of preparation, from list-making to shopping to cooking to presentation, seem to be consumed in mere moments and POOF! they’re all over.
By the time I made it to the table, everyone’s plate was piled high and dinner was in full swing. By the time I jumped up to grab more napkins and refill drinks, Jamie was already midway through his second helping.
Three bites into my meal, both kids asked to be excused, put their dishes in the dishwasher, fed the pets and were off to either start homework or jump on the computer before round two of homework began.
“Do they actually chew?” I asked Jim as the sound of their footsteps thundered over our heads. He laughed as I walked over to the oven and set the temp to the magical cookie number, 350. Within minutes, the bowl in front of me was full of creamy batter and teaspoon-full portions were being dropped onto ungreased cookie sheets.
The sound of the first timer going off brought both fugitives back to the kitchen, looking for either the first batch of cookies or a spoon or empty bowl to lick. Jamie poured four glasses of milk and Jordan brought the dish of cookies back to the table, both chattering about their days, upcoming tests, who dumped who, and the joys of a four-day school week and upcoming long weekend.
I looked across the table and winked at Jim – cookies work every time.
How much fun it was reading this particular .. It brought back memories of my own family when the kids were growing up. I remember my own mom getting dinner on the table in time for all of us to sit down together. By the time she sat down to eat with the family, we were practically finished and on our way. I guess some things never change.
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