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Browsing Tag: dinner

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…

You Know I Cropped My Beer Glass Out of That Picture

We were at our local brew pub, grabbing a quick dinner because four of us were sick with colds and one of us couldn’t face the idea of the kitchen, and even though I’d just looked over our budget and we’d just had a we-really-need-to-stop-eating-out-so-often talk, there we were, around the corner from our house, smiling at the server who knows us all too well.  Quinlan was drawing what looked like a dance party out of a fairy tale (she doesn’t like fairy tales, so I’ve no idea where she got that idea)–couples dancing below a disco ball, ladies in ball gowns, smiling faces. She looked up at us. She wanted an idea of what to draw in the room below the one where the partygoers were having such a good time. “Where do people like to go if they need a break from dancing?” she asked. We all made a collective “Um…” sound. A bathroom? An outdoor garden? “Food,” Saoirse suggested. Quinlan looked at us a moment longer.  “I know! A…

Tough Crowd

We’re in the car (again, always), heading home from school. Saoirse asks me what we’re having for dinner.“Quesadillas,” I say. “Tomatoes. Avocados.” They don’t need to know that I’m going to gourmet the shit out of those quesadillas. Or that those beautiful red and orange tomatoes ripening on our counter will turn into the simplest, best pico de gallo ever. You’ll see why. I can hear the children groan, quietly, in the back seat. “Avocados?!” says Cian. “YUCK.” “Thank you, buddy,” I reply. I forget that toddlers don’t compute sarcasm until he reminds me. “NO,” he says. “I said yuck.” They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I’m wondering at what point my children will learn that the way to their mother’s heart is just to be quiet and eat whatever gruel she puts in front of them. Because, apparently it’s gruel. The avocados, I mean.   &nbsp…