My family has been doing something rather unique in this day and age: we cook dinner together every Thursday night. Granted that’s the way it was 15-20 years ago, but somehow it drifted away life an untethered boat. Everyone was too busy to make food, or too exhausted, or both.
It’s nothing grandiose. No, we’re not that skilled; I’m not that skilled. My roux is embarrassing. We have to rely on gravy starters and other cheats to get it done within an hour because of work. On the other hand, it’s much more wholesome than buying Subway, Quizno’s, McDonald’s, Burger King, Taco Bell, Captain D’s, KFC, Hot Head, Penn Station, Jersey Mike’s, Chipotle, Whattaburger, In-N-Out, Culver’s, Jimmy John’s, Lee’s Famous, Tim Horton’s, Sbarro, Wendy’s. Arby’s, Pizza hut, Papa John’s, Long John Silver’s, Steak and Shake, Arthur Treacher’s or even my beloved Chick-fil-a. I know I’m leaving some out, but you get the picture.
I peeled a simple white onion last night, and have yet to get the scent off my fingers. It has taken me decades to tolerate Allium Cepa in my food, and I’m still not totally thrilled with its sharp, sourish nature but it went into the roast preparation last night. I decided to go for a baked sweet potato, instead of mashed because I simply won’t eat instant anymore and don’t want to go through the rigmarole of making it.
Even with the mishaps, this is something worthwhile. It’s too easy to get tired of life.
Corvidae in the Fields 