Dinner becomes a production

The kids—you know, those mid-forties kids I live with—were busy getting rid of the last of the Christmas decorations today (the tree finally went out to the curb) so I volunteered to cook supper, something I’m always anxious to do anyway. There ensued great discussions.

I went through my file of recipes I want to try, but I didn’t take into account Jordan (and her sister in Austin) are following the South Beach diet. So she shot down hamburger Stroganoff, which sounded wonderful to me—no noodles and sour cream. Then I suggested Craig Claiborne’s smothered chicken—nope to the flour. We finally settled on garlicky chicken thighs with scallions, lime and soy. She would have to go to the store, since I didn’t have chicken thighs on hand—gone is the day when I had that well-stocked freezer. I emphasized that the recipe called for bone-in, skin-on thighs (why anyone buys anything else is beyond me).

Turned out Christian did the shopping, and she failed to relay that message, so he presented me with boneless, skinless chicken thighs. I know he gets tired of my “cooking lessons,” but I pointed out that bone-in chicken always tastes better.  He had no way of knowing crisp skin was essential to this recipe.

By the time I started to cook, Jordan had gone to bed not feeling well, and Christian had gone to watch Jacob’s basketball game. The recipe was fairly straightforward, and my feeling is that lime juice and soy sauce make anything better. I had the chicken and a salad ready about seven, which was our target time.

Jordan didn’t feel well enough to come out to dinner, so the boys—Christian and Jacob—came, bringing boiled potatoes. All was well, except that it took forever to prepare the potatoes with butter and sour cream. And Jacob had a sore toe, which he kept fiddling with, which of course elicited such comments from me as “Go wash your hands. Don’t play with your feet at the dinner table.” His protests earned him a reprimand from his father.

We agreed the chicken had a great flavor, but I know it would have been better with crisp skin. Another nail in my protest about wanting my car back. I could have gone to the grocery this morning, gotten exactly what I needed, and maybe even saved some money. As it is, I have three chicken thighs left over (plus two I had in the freezer)—a puzzle for tomorrow. The recipe will go into that cookbook I’m slowly working on.

I worked hard today—checking more edits on the manuscript, making a list of people to notify when I “cross over.” Not sure why but that struck me in the night as important. When I wrote Colin and told him I’d done that, he replied, “Sounds like a fun morning, Mom.” It didn’t particularly depress me, but I know that since I developed the afib I’m much more aware of my own mortality—even though the cardiologist said the other day he didn’t need to see me for a year. Also sorted out files and taxes, so that my desktop filing system is not so crammed. Once I finish these edits, I’ll go back to organizing tax info. Medical information from last year looms big, with surgery, home health care, hospitalizations, lots of prescriptions. It will be a mess.

Now, dishes to be washed and more edits. Sleep well, my friends.