I don’t buy goat cheese. Or Feta. Or a lotta different kinds of peppers. Green, jalapeno, green chilies, banana peppers are about my full repertoire. I don’t have any arugula.
To read ANY magazine (well, probably not Penthouse), you would think that the modern American family sits down to dine on these things every night. No wonder y’all need Dec*ptively Delic*ous, although, I think blending up blueberries and hiding them in the spaghetti sauce is missing the point of both blueberries and spaghetti sauce.
I know, my kids are probably blending up the feta and slipping it into my coffee.
See. When I put it that way it sounds stupid.
My girls eat everything. They like almost everything I don’t serve at home — greens, fish (help me Jesus, the only way I can choke down fish is with a chicken plank chaser), feta.
I didn’t train the boy. The school of
freaking hard knocks did that. He loves everything except coconut (maybe I’ll grind some up and hide it in his onions and mushrooms). I guess not getting to taste all that much of anything until you were 18 months and then eating orphanage food will make you a bit of a weird sort of foodie. He eats very slowly and when his sister made comment, he said, ” I want to enjoy the food!”
My grandmothers were both great cooks. As a new wife I found out that my husband thought “hot dogs” was a dinner entree. I thought I would pass out from gladness. I read cookbooks obsessively. I can make up my own recipe for a thing by cobbling together the ingredients I have and three or four different recipes for what I am hungry for. I am currently obsessed with Master Chef. Money is tight. I went Aldi on Dec 31 of last year and didn’t get to go again until some time in February. We ate three meals a day without going out to eat. The limitations forced me to kick it up a notch.
Which brings me to this. For the duration of the blog break, and maybe before, I have been thinking of a series or a weekly little bit of something called, The Ghetto Gourmet. For everyone who respects what brought them this far. For everyone who is tired of their food magazines going to the dogs. For me. To get it off my chest now and again, the emperor has no clothes. I am feeding them good tasting food and they are eating it. I don’t have to blend up their pepperoni and hide it in their grilled tilapia with a balsamic reduction.
Let me know what you think and what is for dinner at your house tonight.
It is 5:45, and we’re having spaghetti. No blueberries. No feta.