I have this small dilemma. I have plenty, but we are going to zoom in on one for the moment. I love to cook and I love to attempt at making fanciful foods. I don’t want to feel obliged to create box meals like mac and cheese or pancakes or instant potatoes. I want to make something that, at least, sounds like it has class. Like Fettucini Alfredo, Pasta alla Zucchini Capricciosa, Torta Salata con Spinache… Yum. I am drooling. It doesn’t matter that these things are a basic quiche, or a pasta in cream sauce, or whatnot. They sound awesome.
I love when food looks pretty on a dish. I don’t want to slop down some macaroni and cheese. I don’t even want slap a slice of cheese on bread with some ketchup. I know they prefer to eat what they like and save me the ordeal, but that in itself is a tribulation. I made some food for myself and finally smacked around my camera till it took a shot. I had loads of avocados that I thought I could buy to serve the clan. Aha. Sure. So I served myself.
I don’t know how to officially make guacamole and honestly, I never looked it up. I always just make it the same way. I cut up two avocados, one medium size tomato, diced one small onion and threw in some left over tiny scallions I had lying in the fridge. I squeezed in a lemon and poured in some olive oil. I shook in some salt and pepper and I can’t remember if this time I put in some garlic powder or minced garlic. (The frozen kind of course. If I make it myself, I reek garlic for the next year.) Viola. I had some version of guacamole.
Wait. It does not EVER end there. The best way to eat it is on homemade bread. However, this has been a lazy last few weeks, and all that I had was a regular loaf of rye. It still was pretty darn good. You have to toast up the bread with a slice of any type of meltable cheese and place (notice, not plop) the salad on top of the bubbling cheese. Trust me, heaven. After inhaling several (that shall not be numbered) of my delectable treats, I realized I probably should have taken a picture to share. Almost too late.
I was able to find a little end of the bread and some meager scraps of the salad to put into a shot. You get the idea. I made the salad again and served it as a side dish for dinner. Untouched by some, of course. Except the little man seemed to love it. Strangely, although a hater of meals that take time and effort, the hubs was more than satisfied with the food. EVEN the side dish.
Now, I must share the secret to the breaded chicken cutlets. Meat dinners are the best in my house because everyone can eat them. Dairy and nuts are to be avoided due to allergic Child Number Three, so this was a keeper. The rice was not what I was aiming for, but beggars can’t be choosers. I was busy with the kids and dinner, and maybe possibly forgot about the rice and maybe possibly failed at my attempt at Spanish rice. Don’t tell them. The inquisition was enough. I got the point, they are tough.
I feel like my boys already. Focus. Back to the chicken breasts. Never forget the breasts. See, there is really too much testosterone here. The fact that my levels tested significantly higher than normal, is really not helping the situation. Okay, really this time. I cut them up into some bigger and some smaller pieces to please the eaters. I like small ones, almost nugget size. They are crunchier. Hubs likes massive one and those are easier to cut up for the kids.
I had an egg bowl with a bit of water because I was being cheap on the eggs. The other bowl had a mix of unflavored cornflake crumbs and bread crumbs, probably equal amount. Then I added lots of dehydrated instant potatoes. Not sure what they are called but they added an awesome crunch. As always, I put in salt and many, many shakes of garlic powder. I may have put in a bit of other spices but insignificant. With the kids I daringly put in cayenne pepper, but so little to please my craving buds. I love the heat. Gotta do what you gotta do when you have little ones. Sacrifices.
Coated in crumbs and then dipped into the egg mix. Then back in the crumbs, coating it well. Fried it up till they were gorgeously golden. Or until I forgot about them and smelled them burning. Dinner served.
Maybe now some people will enjoy my food, even if it must be through pictures.