The Tyranny of My Home Cooked Meals

 

"The women interviewed faced not just children but grown adults who are whiny, picky, and ungrateful for their efforts. “We rarely observed a meal in which at least one family member didn’t complain about the food they were served,” the researchers write. Mothers who could afford to do so often wanted to try new recipes and diverse ingredients, but they knew that it would cause their families to reject the meals. “Instead, they continued to make what was tried and true, even if they didn’t like the food themselves.” The saddest part is that picky husbands and boyfriends were just as much, if not more, of a problem than fussy children." from Slate by some whiny Skirt.

Pre-school Dinner Quid Nunc at Casa Hickey ( 1999-2010)

"Why can't we have fried chicken like Mom used to make?" asked my oldest.

"Mom's dead." was my cold hard fact of a rejoinder and I had taken the Hamilton Beach slow cooker out of the box in the basement to signal the start of a new school year.

"You're horrible! How . . .how could you say that?"

" I employed the stative subject complement."

" Well, what are you making for dinner?"

" Find out at meal time. Now, scat!"

The dinner table is not a Democracy.  This is gustatory Spain; not England. One cook, one meal is good enough for one dinner table with three children ( two girls and boy), while the chef and waiter stands, serves, clears and cleans the kitchen serving board.

In the summer months the grill does the trick, but fall, winter and early spring belong to the cast-iron skillet or the Slow Cooker.  I don't follow the rules.  I make them.  I am Pater Familas, The Widow Dad.

Voila~!

 


Sic Semper Tyrannis!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!