this is a page for

Browsing Tag: dinner

Leah Cooks: Cacio e Pepe

I know at this very moment you’re quite concerned about your “summer body” (whatever that is), and vowing to give up all pasta and doughnuts and everything else delicious in life for the next month just so you can fit into your swimsuit without being incredibly conscious of the way your cute little stomach roll flops over the top of your tankini bottom when you crouch down to sit beside the pool. Oh, wait. You don’t do that? I also know that you make mac and cheese “for the kids” and eat all the leftovers in a moment of carb-craving mania while standing over the pot with a wooden spoon in your hand hoping nobody decides she wants seconds. You don’t know me. Look: your stomach’s gonna flop a little. It’s really no big deal. Just eat the pasta already. Pasta’s at least a once-a-week staple in our house, as I’m sure it is in yours, too, occasional pre-summer body anxiety notwithstanding. But here’s the thing: you know as well as I do that the best…

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…