It’s dinner: same tonight as any other. Read in any order.
I made a whole mess of twice-baked sweet potatoes last night. I was one-thousand percent sure they would be a hit. My kiddos *love* regular twice-baked potatoes. I’d never put in the trouble to fix sweets this way - it’s labor intensive, scooping out the insides, recombining with goodies and filling/rebaking the shells — and I couldn’t wait to see them wolfed down.
I even found a recipe online with a 4.93 rating on more than 500(!) reviews. Success was guaranteed.
I thought.
Karen hated the texture. “They’re stringy-ish! I don’t like those stringies on my tongue.”
She wiped her tongue off with her fingernails, scraping every last trace, and ate no more.
Zach was convinced I’d used the wrong spices. “Did you put, like, *oregano* in here?”
I said no, just cinnamon and a pinch of nutmeg.
He insisted, “Pretty sure that’s oregano, Mom. You should watch it with these online recipes. People prank a lot on the internet. Older people don’t understand.”
Speaking of older people who didn’t understand the internet — Granny, I figured, was a surefire win. She has a huge sweet tooth. These were going to be right up her alley.
But no.
“Aw, they taste like sassafras candy! What in the world did you go ruining good yams for?”
She spat out the mouthful, grumbling about her dentures rotting.
So, yeah, that was twice-baked sweet potatoes. I know what leftovers I’ll be eating all week for lunch.
#dinnerTonight
For #dinnerTonight, I navigated a standoff between my 74-year-old grandmother and 14-year-old son. #Eunice has rightly recognized that we’re marching through pantry supplies in an effort to space out trips to the grocery store.
“Know what you ought to use up?” she said this morning. “That cream of mushroom. It’s coming due.”
I tipped my head to one side. “Maybe a casserole.”
Her eyes lit up. “The stroganoff, make the stroganoff!”
Zach, cruising through the kitchen with his skateboard, heard us.
“No stroganoff,” he said. “I refuse to eat glob.”
“It’s not glop,” I said, though the dish can be a bit thick when I use canned soup instead of making a roux. “I suppose I could do Swedish meatballs instead.”
He made a pained face. “Ugh. Glop with meat.”
At this point, Eunice grew exasperated. “You millennials, what’re we supposed to eat? Huh? Tofu and dandelions?” She turned to me. “Make the stroganoff, Molly. It’s delicious!”
I faced Zach, who I don’t think qualifies as a millennial. Granny lumps everybody under forty-five into that pejorative bucket.
“I do have this new recipe I was hoping to try,” I said to them both. “It takes cream of mushroom” — Zach’s eyes began their trademark roll — “but it’s also got chicken and cheese. I can toss in some jalapenos too.”
Zach and Granny eyed each other. He said, “*Fine*.”
She said, “Could you sprinkle fried onions on top?”
“Grandmother…” I said warningly.
“Oh, fine,” she said. “Fine. Make the danged thing. I’ll just pick the peppers out.”
#zachQuote
Roasted bok choy for #dinnerTonight! Olive oil, fresh ginger and garlic, red pepper flakes — it looked nice but not a huge hit with the kiddos. Zach: "So it's...fancy lettuce?"
For #dinnerTonight, tripled my white-bean chili recipe in preparation for extended social distancing. Last time I cooked on this scale, we hosted Karen's U5 whole soccer team to celebrate their season.
Karen, giddy: "Does this mean the Rainbow Unicorns are coming over again?"
I looked out the kitchen window at my lawn, which has looked patchy ever since, and recalled that Symba slept under my bed for three weeks.
"No," I said. "No unicorns tonight."