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Browsing Tag: cooking

Leah Cooks Chicken Parm Pizza (with Leftovers!)

I really have to put more forethought into the food posts I put here for you. I know this. You don’t deserve a terrible shot of my dinner pizza with the weird tendril of cheese goo on the top of it taken under the golly-awful light of a bunch of LED kitchen bulbs. I know. You just don’t deserve it. And yet, here you go. I’ll work on it. I am trying *desperately* to simplify our dinners around here, because even though I say I love cooking–and I do–there are so many nights where we end up getting take out/stopping by a local restaurant (there’s both a brewery and a Mexican restaurant a mile a way from our house. It’s too convenient, you guys. Too convenient) for dinner simply because we’re overwhelmed/stressed/busy/lazy. I know you know the drill. And I also know that you, too, weep a little bit when you look at your bank statement and realize you could’ve paid for a trip to Cabo with all the money you’ve dropped at El Rodeo…

Jamaican Jerk Fish with Pineapple-Coconut Rice

Rachael Ray and her show 30-Minute Meals was my jumping-off point to learning how to cook: she just made it look so easy, especially for someone like me who would proudly make herself mac-n’-cheese out of a box, throw in some microwaved spinach, and call it a well-rounded meal (can you blame me? Carbs, protein and a vegetable, right? Wasn’t that supposed to be wholesome?). My dad tried to teach me how to cook when I was in high school, but that didn’t go so well, because a) I had a bit of a “Why are you teaching ME to cook and not my brother, huh? Is it because I’m a GIRL?” attitude we couldn’t quite move past, and b) my father and I didn’t exactly jive in teacher-student situations, partly because he really enjoyed giving direction and partly because I kind of despised being the one directed. I was a fun teenager. Once I got to college, I didn’t have to learn how to cook, because college came with such things as a cafeteria, Amore Pizza and ramen…

Don’t Ask Me If I Shouted “Opa!”

I set the kitchen on fire two nights ago. David was in Atlanta for work, and the kids and I had stopped off at the grocery store after school to pick up some fresh food to cook for dinner. It’d been a week of scraping together leftovers and take-out, so I was actually excited to get back to a routine. I’d found a recipe for zucchini noodles in an avocado pesto sauce (Don’t laugh. I like that kind of stuff, okay? STOP LAUGHING), and picked up some burgers to make for the kids, because I’m not a monster who only feeds my kids zoodles.  It was seriously the perfect afternoon. The kids played outside (Quinlan just learned how to ride a bike, which means that she pulled her old, too-small bike out of the garage, got on it, and started pedaling–because that’s just how the Mighty rolls) while I put the groceries away and started dinner. They’d gotten their homework finished, and we had a wide-open evening ahead of us, and I’d promised them a cozy dinner and then some time…