Around my house, if you can turn it into a sandwich, it is that much better than the original.
Take spaghetti and meatballs. I would be happy with the original, with a good sprinkling of Parmesan cheese. However, my fiance. Casey, is a pasta hater (see pasta wars), and will pick the meatballs out of the spaghetti.
Rhubarb, however, is a mystery to me. This was my first cooking and eating experience with the long, red, green and speckled pink stalks. For whatever reason, I have never had an opportunity, or perhaps chosen not to, select a rhubarb pie, crisp, or crumble when dessert comes my way.
Typically, I plan out dinners for the week on Sunday night. This way, I get all my ingredients in one fell swoop at the store, and I know ahead of time what I need to do to get dinner on the table so that it actually happens. If this weekly ritual doesn’t take place, bad things happen, i.e. I get home from work, exhausted, and decide frozen pizza is as good as it’s going to get. Or chips. Yes, this is to be avoided.
Freighthouse Square in Tacoma is an odd place.
It’s a mixture of random shops, vendors and food stands. It doesn’t sounds that odd, but it is. Go there, and you’ll know.
Quiche is the perfect weekend meal. Really, no more of this “real men don’t eat quiche” crap. If you’re a real man, you’ll eat whatever the heck you want.
