Take back that martyr comment above. Truth be told, the children would be quite happy with fried balls of macaroni and cheese on a Tuesday night. (There actually is something to that effect in above mentioned Trader Joe's aisle, and Frances never walks past it with begging me, please, just this once, just get the mac and cheese balls, Mama, just PLEASE, I know I love them.) The children would, at least in the short term, be a lot happier at dinner time if I snipped and heated Thai dumplings and tofu nuggets and called it a night. But I can't bear to. Even if time is short, even if Beatrice is hanging onto my legs, head thrown back, giving herself over entirely to the conviction that all will be lost if Mama doesn't pick me up right now and Frances is repeating her story about what appalling thing so-and-so said at lunch and Gabriel is moaning dramatically over first grade homework at the table, even then I am determined to somehow pull together a real dinner. This is despite the fact that though I regularly and, it seems to me, heroically chop onions and simmer quinoa in the midst of so much activity, I always brace myself when the children ask me the dreaded What's for dinner question because chances are high they will be disappointed. (And express their disappointment.) (And apologize to me when I tell them that hurts my feelings). And even though Beatrice will announce she is ready to sit in Mama's lap three minutes into the simple meal that took just about all the inner resources I had to make materialize on the table, and I will haul her out of her seat and she will climb all over me and try to feed me resulting in a great mess, even then it seems worthwhile to continue to cook - and eat - the real dinner I really made. It's absurd, but there it is.
That said, I am always trying to figure out ways to cook and eat real food that won't stress me out. Some recent developments: making a big pan of baked oatmeal on Sunday afternoons that I can slice and reheat during the week for breakfast; keeping lots of salad greens on hand so I can pack lunches that make me happy (rather than the desperate yogurt cup/granola bar/apple sort of thing that only depresses); making lots of dinner when possible so we'll have good leftovers on hand.
I've also been experimenting with my slow cooker. It's never really found a comfortable place in my kitchen. But lately I've been making dried beans in it during the day (so superior to canned, right? so worth the effort!), which brings me to the subject of this post. In its own small way this meal felt triumphant, so I wanted to share. Here's what I did: a few mornings ago I realized I would come home that day on the late side and there'd be nothing obvious to make for dinner. So first thing, I quick-soaked a bag of chick peas (covered in water, brought to a boil, and left for about an hour). Just before I left for work I drained them and put them into the slow cooker with water to cover, salt, and a glug of olive oil.
When I got home with the kids that day, the house smelled great. I decided that in the hopes of transforming a mountain of cooked chick peas into something that seemed like dinner, I would prepare them like hummus - minus the blender. I put some grains on to cook, and in a little bowl whisked lots of tahini, lemon, olive oil, salt, and garlic together. When the grains were finished, I mixed them with the chick peas and poured the tahini sauce all over everything.
And though nowadays I have less time to conceive, gather ingredients for, and prepare meals myself, I do have a nine year old I can send out to cut chives with which to make a rather plain dish a little more exciting. And a six year old who will (sometimes) cheerfully set the table. And a toddler who will search the house calling Papa! Dinner! Sit here! and so miraculously, amazingly, that night we all sat down to real dinner together and I was not a frazzled mess. Success.
Ah, readers! Remember when I used to post about these little life challenges all the time? And you would comment and share your extraordinary innovations too? Maybe this one was fueled by a bit of nostalgia for that era. Indulge me, won't you? What was your latest real dinner triumph?
With solidarity, love, and wishes for excellent meals shared with cooperative children,
xxoo
Meagan
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