Meal planning in our house generally careens between
obsessively-detailed lists of all-new recipes culled from my (far too large)
collection and complete, total, utter laziness. I tend to feel pretty ambitious
on Sunday mornings when I make my grocery list – I believe that Imaginary Mom
takes advantage as that first cup of coffee kicks in - but between the lure of
books, the distraction of other chores, the gravitational pull of teenagers in
front of the TV watching something interesting, and the horror of crowded
grocery stores, the actual shopping doesn’t get done until Monday mornings.
Since I work mid-day Monday, this means the imagined meal prep doesn’t actually
happen and we end up cooking dinner start to finish during the week like
everyone else. It would actually be interesting (to me, anyway) to record the
progression of our pre-dinner conversations; I imagine it would be something
like this.
Monday: I’m working tonight, so my completely-unnecessary Working
Mother Guilt has driven me to prepare this delicious meal for you – all you
need to do it heat it up/throw it under the broiler/open the slow cooker and steam
the healthy fresh vegetables that I’ve lovingly cut up for you.
Tuesday: It’s so nice to be home with you tonight. I planned
a nice complicated meal to make up for the fact that I wasn’t here yesterday
even though you were all doing your own thing and didn’t even notice I was
gone. All the ingredients are neatly organized in the fridge chronologically.
Wednesday: I know I bought all the ingredients for this;
they’re in here somewhere. This recipe doesn’t look familiar and I’m not sure
why I picked it earlier this week but – oh, right, we’re missing that one key
ingredient but that’s okay, we can improvise. Also we’re starting dinner later
than I wanted, why are there all these dirty pans on the stove? No, it’s okay,
I don’t mind eating right before bedtime…
Thursday: Am I the only person who knows how to clean
anything around here? I don’t remember what we’re having. I wrote it down on
the calendar. Do you look at the calendar? Isn’t it someone else’s turn to
cook? This is an important life skill. Seriously, I need a nap before I can
even look at you holding a knife, much less help. Yes, frozen peas are fine, I
can’t find whatever vegetable was supposed to go with this anyway.
Friday: Every single day, you people want to eat. I’m over
it. Feed yourselves.
So the search for a middle ground continues. (And I legitimately enjoy cooking. If you hate cooking I can imagine all the weeks might start on Friday and believe me, I'm not judging anyone.)
There are a couple of issues at play here, and I’m betting
that everyone is dealing with at least one of them (not necessarily the same
one, either) every single day.
- We have legit food restrictions around here
- My picky eater is a moving target
- We're tired by the end of the day
- Everyone likes a lot of variety, even if they say they’d happily eat the same 5 meals every week that’s a lie and I journaled about the tantrum that resulted when I tried it
- Cleaning the kitchen is a job that nobody thinks should belong to them regardless of who’s cooking
Given all of this, it’s a rare delight to pick out something
that I’m pretty sure everyone will hate (chosen because I want it, and to hell with
you all because I can only eat so much broccoli on the side) and then it’s surprisingly
delicious and everyone likes it and it keeps well in the fridge and morphs into
a whole other meal and your daughter says, “Mom, you should totally blog that.
We can make it on vacation.”
I’m slowly overcoming my loathing of olives, and we kept the
feta and tomatoes on the side so David didn’t get poisoned. Sitting in the fridge
for an hour does something magical to tame the onion and fennel, which both my
kids normally hate. Everything stays crispy for Day 2, and there’s no mayo or
egg or cooking or fussing so you could totally take this to a potluck and ignore
it. It’s good as-is but also likes the leftover rotisserie chicken in the
fridge. You could throw it into a pita and make a sandwich of it. I’m not a big
improviser but I can see there is lots of potential here, and I’m pretty sure
it’s going to be a regular on our table this summer.
Fresh Mediterranean Salad
3 tablespoons red wine vinegar
2 tablespoons water
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1 tsp Dijon mustard
½ tsp kosher salt
2 garlic cloves, chopped
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 cups thinly sliced fennel
1 ½ cups thinly sliced red onion
1 cup olives, pitted and halved
¾ cup chopped fresh parsley
½ cup crumbled feta
1 can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
6 plum tomatoes, quartered
Mix the vinaigrette ingredients together. Drizzle over salad
ingredients, cover, and chill at least an hour. See above re: the flexibility,
tastiness, and general happiness that will be caused by this salad.