Well, well! What’s for Supper? turns 40. Happy birthday, you old bat. Never let anyone tell you you can’t wear giant hoop earrings, orange maharishi combat pants, or feather-trimmed anything. Anything!
Yes, you’re still pretty. Very pretty.
On Saturday, we went to visit my parents, bringing five Aldi pizzas with us. It was a nice visit, and good pizza. And we got a washing machine drum.
Sunday, Father’s Day, we went to my husband’s sister’s house for a BBQ, and had burgers, hot dogs, chips, corn on the cob, and ice cream.
My brother-in-law is vegan, so my mother-in-law made a very tasty bean salad for him. But he was called away, so I ate most of it, to the delight of everyone who accompanied me on the hour-long drive home.
Oh, and we let Corrie have as much soda as she wanted.
I see no downside to this plan.
Here’s the email conversation between me and my husband on Monday:
Husband: What’s for supper? Me: SUPPER. Well. The original plan was to serve grilled chicken with salad, and couscous on the side. Then I realized I didn’t really have enough chicken, so I thought I’d mix the chicken into the couscous, which is a thing. Then I burned the couscous, so I fried up some kielbasa and now I’m cooking some rice to make jambalaya.So, beer.Husband: BEER!!!!!!
The jambalaya wasn’t actually bad, but it certainly wasn’t actually jambalaya, either. It was rice, chunks of chicken, chunks of kielbasa, a jar of sliced jalapeños, and a jar of salsa.
Hey, Damien, I just realized that’s where all the salsa went! I knew I bought salsa.
And beer. As always, when I make something that no one especially wants, I made about nine cubic feet of it.
Deli sandwiches, chips
Tuesday we were cleaning up for a party (this is the main reason we have so many parties. We’d never clean, otherwise), so we had cold sandwiches. Nothing to report. I think we went to the beach at some point.
Sesame chicken, roasted broccoli, rice
Requested meal from the birthday girl. This is the recipe from Budget Bytes, a recipe previously classified as foolproof. We had to make three separate trips, first to get more chicken, then to get more cornstarch, then to get more brown sugar. And more oil. I proceeded to fry up twelve pounds of chicken, and that part of it turned out great. It was all light, fluffy, and golden. I made it in nine separate batches, drained it, and transferred it to a dish so I could just add the sauce and serve.
Then I read the rest of the recipe which I have made a million times before, and discovered for the millionth time that you have to cook it up in the sauce to thicken it. There was no way I could do this (see “nine separate batches”) on the stovetop; and the oven was full of broccoli. So I dumped the chicken in my giant metal bowl, thinking I could use it like a wok.
I couldn’t. I don’t want to talk about why.
Anyway, the sauce had issues of its own. One child had graciously offered to help, an offer I gratefully accepted — until I realized that said child saw no difference between tablespoons and heaping tablespoons. Towering, really. Also, there’s no particular reason to count how many tablespoons. Just keep shovelling cornstarch in there, whoopee!
Thanks for your help, honey. Maybe just chop some scallions for me?
But at least we have decent rice, right? HA HA. Another child also graciously offered to help, an offer I also gratefully accepted. So I tell him to measure out twelve cups of water, which he does . . . using a half-cup measure. Is he sure there are twenty-four half cups of water in there? Yeah, pretty sure.
How are those scallions coming? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I’m sorry, I know you’re helping. I’m sorry. I just find it faster if you cut them all together, instead of one at a time. Maybe use a knife, and not . . . you know what, gimme that. Thanks. Thanks.
Okay, so now please measure out six cups of rice. NO, DON’T DUMP IT IN THE WATER. Okay, sure, use a colander and just strain it as best you can. I know you were helping. Just . . . wait, are you sure this is twelve half-cups of rice? Okay . . .
So, sometime around bedtime, I served up twelve pounds of soggy sesame chicken in dubious sauce on heaps of slimy rice custard. Hap. Py. Birthday. The chopped scallions made all the difference, let me tell you.
For dessert, the birthday kid made her own cake and frosting, because I am a horrible person. She also put up her own decorations and blew up her own balloons. One of her presents arrived broken, two of them were the wrong size, and the other thing was something she’s kind of over now. Here’s the cake, which I forgot to take a picture of until we had eaten half of it.
We don’t always use almond slices to make flowers on cakes, but when we do, it turns out like this. Remember that X Files episode where the murderer psychically affects photographs? That’s where that shadow came from. From murderbrain.
Did I mention that Wednesday was CD 28? If you don’t know what that means, just move along.
The broccoli was freaking delicious, thanks for asking.
Frozen fish fillets, shredded cabbage, fresh limes, cilantro, sour cream, and a tiny bit of salsa (see: Monday) on tortillas, and tortilla chips. That is what the kids made while I was holed up in my room writing, after running around like a maniac on errands all day long.
Cheesy crab rolls
Gonna try this today. It seems like it’s possible that it might taste good, but not if you call it “Cheesy Crab Burritos,” as the recipe does. I happen to love imitation crab meat. I know it’s made out of flour, gelatin, dextrose, and mackerel squeezings, but I love it.
Now tell me I’m pretty!