I don’t know if it’s my more open schedule, the fact that fall is setting in, or some other factor, but lately I’ve started cooking meals at home again. This week I’ve made two dinners and a breakfast, which probably surpasses the number of meals I’d cooked in the previous two months.
When I was growing up, my mother knew a couple who never cooked. She’d say with obvious disapproval, “They eat out at every meal.” It made me feel a little smug that we almost never ate out.
Fast forward 20 years or so and here I am racing from place to place every evening, trying to think of the least evil fast food available in the 10 minutes I have before I’m due at my next appointment. We eat so much Subway that I can smell the rolls baking in my sleep.
There’s nothing I can do about band practice nights, but I’m really making an effort to stay in and feed us at home on the other evenings. It’s relatively inexpensive, potentially healthier and usually tastier than eating out. If only my husband would do the after-meal cleanup, the scenario would be ideal.
Tonight, well, we’re buying tamales from our favorite little Mexican restaurant because there’s a band meeting at our house and that’s what everyone requested. However, I’m thinking that a beef stew made in the Crockpot would be ideal for Friday night. If we don’t have to fight the rest of the metro area for a restaurant table that evening, maybe we can actually manage to make it to a movie. I guess we’ll see what happens.
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