My son is a great kid. He has no illusions of what his Mom is and is not. He knows for sure that I am no cook. Sure, I make things for us but it really is not the thing I am known for. So for him to ask me to make something specific to eat, you know I must oblige, This week he asked for Lasagna soup, a recipe I found on the internet (afarmgirldabbles.com). I’ve made the recipe a few times and CJ did enjoy it. So, I agreed with his request with one condition, that he assists me in the kitchen. I have a belief: young men from my youth were so unfamiliar with the function of the kitchen, they could starve without a girlfriend. I determined when I had a son that he should and would learn how to use the kitchen (and the laundry, as well, but, of course, that’s another conversation for another day). Knowing me the way he does, he agreed to my stipulation. We went the grocery store and purchased our ingredients. Once the groceries were out of the way, we descended upon the kitchen to make dinner. Despite a brief episode with the chopped onions, CJ was an excellent assistant and our soup turned out hot and satisfying.
I am not sure how this keeps happening but it seems that Tuesday is the day I try something out of the ordinary. Maybe because it’s the beginning of the week or, possibly, because no one eats at home Friday, Saturday or Sunday. Whatever the reason, Tuesday seems to be the day I will try something different (or in the words of my young cousin, weird).
So, I still have a fair amount of feta cheese in the fridge so I know that I am going to use that but I am equally certain I do not want to do pasta again. I had caught a glimpse of a chicken burger in a magazine and thought it looked interesting. Unfortunately, I didn’t buy the magazine so I couldn’t follow the recipe that peeked my interest (oops). So I begin at Google and I find a rather large number of recipes but it seemed each one incorporated something that either would not have appreciated by me or my family. Each member has a list of things that we simply can not eat. Mine includes (but not limited to) beans, tofu, and cheese inside of meat. I don’t know why but since I was little that last one just never seemed like a good idea, but I digress.
After checking out a few recipes I get a general idea of what I will and will not do. I stopped by the grocery store to pick up ground chicken, buns, and, of course, basil. The rest of my ingredients, (garlic, onion, egg, bread, butter, sundried tomato pesto, seasonings, and feta cheese) were already at home. After a bit of a drive, we arrive home and I assemble the ingredients into patties and cook them on my George Foreman grill. The patties were removed and topped with sundried tomato pesto, fresh basil, and feta. All things considered, it turned out okay.
My son is a great kid. He has no illusions of what his Mom is and is not. He knows for sure that I am no cook. Sure, I make things for us but it really is not the thing I am known for. So for him to ask me to make something specific to eat, you know I must oblige, This week he asked for Lasagna soup, a recipe I found on the internet (afarmgirldabbles.com). I’ve made the recipe a few times and CJ did enjoy it. So, I agreed with his request with one condition, that he assists me in the kitchen. I have a belief: young men from my youth were so unfamiliar with the function of the kitchen, they could starve without a girlfriend. I determined when I had a son that he should and would learn how to use the kitchen (and the laundry, as well, but, of course, that’s another conversation for another day). Knowing me the way he does, he agreed to my stipulation. We went the grocery store and purchased our ingredients. Once the groceries were out of the way, we descended upon the kitchen to make dinner. Despite a brief episode with the chopped onions, CJ was an excellent assistant and our soup turned out hot and satisfying.