Prepare yourself for shocking news. My little recipe experiment is heading straight for the toilet. Do not pass, go, do not collect $200–head straight for the toilet. On the double.
Tuesday night I made mushroom-Swiss burgers with sweet potato fries [+ Asian dipping sauce.] The burgers were great; pretty hard to mess up a burger though–especially one smothered in sauteed mushrooms, fresh garlic, and Swiss cheese. The sweet potato fries were OK, but the Asian dipping sauce was too different to appeal to our youngsters. With a base of peanut butter, chopped red peppers and toasted sesame oil, it sounded fantastic in theory, but just didn’t turn into the crowd pleaser I was hoping for. At least the paper plates were festive.
One little detail I neglected to share with you is that the sweet potatoes called for sesame seeds. Normally, I would not bat an eye at this, but for some reason that night, I was thinking about that old Ryan Phillipe movie “Antitrust” in which he’s an up-and-coming computer processor guy who is hired by Tim Robbins into something like Microsoft. Anyway, it’s a great thriller if you’ve never seen it. One of the details that turns into an important piece of information is that Ryan’s character is allergic to sesame seeds. So, as I’m sprinkling them on to the potatoes to roast, I’m thinking of this movie.
And then, LOOK what happened to my daughter [after I FORCE her to eat it, whether she likes it or NOT!]:
Great. I’ve poisoned my kid.
I’ve tried a new recipe, which they didn’t even like, and to boot, I’ve given my daughter a rash. And did I mention it was under both eyes?
Wednesday nights are always a bit hurried around here. We have a weekly commitment and have to leave the house at 6:05, so you can imagine what it’s like at about 5 pm. Craaaaziness! Being the superior home manager that I am [*cough], I try to plan something easy for dinner. Thus, as I looked through my new cookbook, my sweet little piece of supposed salvation, I selected page 30 for tonight: fried fresh mozzarella and tomato sandwiches. I grilled them instead, but followed the directions to soak them in egg first, a ‘la French toast. Another twist that I thought would be a nice change. A few notes of a different, yet lovely tune.
Note to self: easy at our house = PB & J from now on, forever and ever AMEN.
Remind me of this should I ever fall down and suffer some sort of memory-altering injury. Or if I decide to beat myself in the head with a frying pan out of anger that I just cannot BUY a good home-cooked meal.
So here’s what it looked like around 5:40 in the land of bliss:
Fresh mozzarella melted on grilled Ezekiel bread with fresh Romas sliced lengthwise.
“Eeew! I don’t like this kind of cheese!” ~ “Are you sure this isn’t a fried egg?!” To which I reply, kindly and gently: “Fine, DOGGONE IT!! Peel it off, but eat the sandwich! [then graciously add…] How ’bout we add some ham to it?” They reply: “OK, but can we take off the tomato, too?”
…And it meets its sad, inevitable end with our dog, who sniffs it over and eats only part of it. I QUIT!!