Sorry Ann Curry + Snap Pea Salmon Quinoa

Ok, I might have called her Rainbow Brite previously, but now I feel bad about Ann Curry.  Her wardrobe is unfortunate.  My god, those outfits.  And this is coming from a woman who has worn little more than yoga pants and fleece tops for the last six years.  And clogs.  Yes I do.

But now that she's about to be fired and she still has to come to work each morning at some ridiculously early hour and be all, "Hey, good morning, let's have a great show today."  What?  Who can do that?  I mean, Al Roker was probably a lot to deal with already but now she has to chuckle at his lame puns knowing her exit is imminent and be graceful about it.  That's superhuman.  I watched about 45 minutes this morning and it's not hard to read the underscoring sentiment.  Or maybe it's just me imagining pop-up video style text bubbles reading, "Shut the F up already with the weather puns, Al" or "Thanks for nothin', Lauer, you a-hole."  She's been a pillar of class and grace, thus far.  If I were her I would be so tempted to wear that crazy smock dress featuring the Today Show rainbow from waist-to-hip for the rest of my days.  That's right.  Rainbow Brite every single crazy day.  

Oh Ann. My condolences.

My defining moment of departure from the Today show had nothing to do with Ann Curry.  I'd always turned on NBC as a default.  I remember getting ready for school with Jane Pauley and Bryant Gumbel. I watched with horror Katie and Matt's live coverage of 9/11.  And then Matt Lauer interviewed the Colorado teenager who spilled her frozen yogurt on President Obama's shoe.  Yogurt on a goddamn shoe.  Over and out.

Plus said teenager had that speech inflection where every sentence rises in pitch at the end and comes out like a question.  What is that?  I hope it's only prevalent in girls so that we can avoid it entirely because it might kill me.  Literally.  Just kidding about the literally; I know how to use the word correctly.  

So I'm breaking up with the Today Show but I'm jumping into bed with a new love:  The Newsroom.  I watched the pilot twice yesterday.  So good.  The pilot is on You Tube and the show looks promising enough to allllmossssst make me order HBO.  Except it airs Sundays at 10:00 p.m. and it's a rare Sunday eve that sees me awake at 11:00 p.m.  And also I'm cheap.  So most likely I'll bide my time until it comes out on DVD and then I will ignore my children and watch the whole thing in one long and delicious sit-down, thus reprising my former nickname, Leah de la Sofa.  

God, Mom, no.  I'm not really going to ignore the boys.  Joking.  

Um...sooo... it was really hot here last week and I needed to throw together a rare weeknight dinner for all four of us.  Turning on the oven or grilling wasn't going to happen.  So we ate saltines with peanut butter.  The end.  Joking again!  I kill myself (no, not literally).  I had a ton of snap peas and spinach from my garden.  (Oh, how I'm loving my garden.  But that ramble--and it's going to be one heck of a ramble--is for another time.) I made an all-microwave meal.  And it was decent.  

Abundant snaps

Snap Pea and Salmon Quinoa (for 4)

1 cup uncooked Quinoa

2 or so cups snap peas, trimmed and cut into bite-size pieces

2 cups spinach, washed and finely chopped

1 (approx. 1 lb) salmon filet, cut into 4 pieces

Citrus Vinaigrette

2 tbsp. olive oil

Zest and juice of 1/2 - 1 lemon (I like a lot of lemon, the boys not so much)

1 tbsp. red wine vinegar (or preferred)

2 tbsp. orange juice

2 tbsp. chopped chives

Salt and pepper, to taste.  I have a salt problem and feel like it needs a little extra salt.  But that's me.  

1. Cook quinoa according to package directions (I microwaved, clearly).

2. Trim and chop about this many snap peas (it's a little over two cups.  I measured!), microwave with a little water for 1 minute.  Add to bowl with quinoa.

3. Microwave chopped spinach for 30 seconds.  It will look horrible but will add color and vitamins.  Add it to the bowl and stir well so the spinach doesn't stay clumpy and the quinoa fluffs up.

4. Mix vinaigrette together and add, stir again.  It looks like a lot but don't fret, the grain soaks it up. 

5. I salted and peppered and lemoned the salmon and cooked each piece of individually, in my handy microwave egg cooker, for 55 seconds.  Alternatively, I'm sure you could do it all on a plate covered with plastic wrap but I've got no idea how long it would take to cook.  Helpful.

Salmon in the microwave egg cooker

6. Let the salmon rest for a couple minutes, flake with a fork and add to the quinoa mixture.  Maybe add chopped, toasted walnuts if you've got them.  Add a little crunch, yes?

7. Serve it up and enjoy a fresh, healthful no oven meal that's not a sandwich.  Or Ben and Jerry's Phish Food frozen yogurt.  Not that that's happened.

View from my bedroom window.  So much nicer in the summer.  The end.

Grilled Caprese Chicken and Forty is anything but Sporty.

I just had a birthday.  A very big birthday.  The kind of birthday you don't really think is going to happen to you and then, blam-o, there it is.  There was much talking and planning for said birthday.  I made one thing clear: no parties.  Don't get me wrong; I love celebrating birthdays, just not my own.

So there was a party.  It was lovely.  The food was fantastic and the setting pretty.  I'm very thankful.  

The best gift I was given was from my in-laws: 3 days in Chicago by myself (Carter was working).  I had lunch with my dear friend J.  I went running by the lake on an incredibly shiny day.  I wandered aimlessly and shopped my way up and down Michigan Avenue. It was heaven.  

In fact, it was so idyllic that I began imagining life had we stayed in Chicago.  I pictured frequent trips to the Art Institute and the concerts in Millennium Park.  I imagined taking the boys to a ton of different restaurants and appreciating all the cultures that co-mingle in a big city.  Pretty, pretty picture. 

And then a (I'm guessing here) homeless and drunk man called me a whore.  I was all, "Ahhh, this blouse is Tory Burch.  So no.  No I'm not."  He didn't get the reference, but the women behind me sure did.  Sisterhood against the traveling men with no pants. 

Picture of downtown from Diversey.  Yes, I was taking pictures because I needed a break from running.  But still, incredible day.  

I had a string of days in Chicago that made me almost forget the times when it's not so nice.  For example, the time I exited the train at Chicago Ave. and a frosting-heavy Dunkin' Donuts bag hit me with such gale force winds that I had to take off my mittens to pry it away from my trouser leg.

Or the time that I cashed in a very nice gift certificate I was given to get massages for both Carter and myself at a very swank spa.  It was raining sideways.  Umbrellas were nothing but a cute accessory; they served no purpose.  Taxis were, of course, non-existent.  I arrived soaking wet with some kind of otherworldly alien hair.  It was cute.

But this trip was fantastic.  A great summer kick-off.  My little friends had fun.

And then they got their work-out.

When we returned home we were excited for summer.  And excited for this meal:

Grilled Chicken Caprese (for 4)

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, pounded to an even thickness
4 slices fresh mozzarella cheese

1 tbsp. olive oil
1 medium red onion, roughly chopped
1 tsp. sugar
3/4 - 1 lb tomatoes, roughly chopped (I used grape tomatoes and cut them in half)
1/3 C. white wine
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. balsamic vinegar

Start with the tomato sauce.  Heat olive oil in a saucepan over medium-high heat.  Add onion and sugar and stir consistently, about 5 minutes.

Add tomatoes and turn heat to medium-low.  Stir consistently and add a splash of wine when liquids dry up.  Be careful not to burn (note to self right there).  Stir, adding wine when necessary, for 10-15 minutes, until everything is nice and mushy.  Add salt and balsamic.  Cook a few minutes longer.  If you want a smoother sauce, blend with an immersion blender.  If you're cool with the chunks, don't.  Cooks choice.

Onion and tomatoes, beginning to cook down.

Cooked and added balsamic.

Blended.  It was a Saturday night.  I had time.  I blended.  

Grill the chicken breasts.  Let's not reinvent the wheel here, everyone knows how to grill chicken breasts.  After you flip them, wait a minute and add a slice of mozzarella.  Cook it like a cheeseburger.  As an aside H. used to adorably call cheeseburgers "cheese-ham-a-burgers."  It's my blog. I get to do that.   

Pull that cheesy chicken off the grill, top with a scoop of the tomato-balsamic sauce and some fresh chopped basil.  Serve with some grilled vegetables.  Whatever you have.  Vegetables are always better grilled.  

 Plated with grilled zucchini, pepper and onions 

(the dregs of the vegetable drawer if I were to be honest).

Summer on a plate.

In other news I gave the boys their dinner tonight and H. looked at his plate, looked at me with a raised eyebrow and asked, "Mom, did you try your best on this dinner?"  Yep.  That happened.  I took a deep breath, looked at him and said, "Your sitter will be here at nine in the morning."  The end.  

Asparagus Pasta and She is Good at Rainbows

Last year I had the boys write a thank-you letter to their teacher at the end of the year.  H's was very nice. D's was not.

Now, this was an early 5's Kindergarten class.  He's no Doogie Howser, M.D.  I had to help him spell every damn word.

Speaking of Doogie Howser, M.D., because I speak of him often (?), there's a kid who did it right.  No Corey Feldman there.  What's his name?  Neil Patrick Harris?  He went from child star to Broadway to an ABC hit and back to Broadway as the host of the Tony Awards.  And he's a father of twins.  Listen, I give any parent of twins props.  It's no joke.

Anyway, this year I figured they had learned enough to do it on their own. Or not.  Here is H's:

So H's teacher has been amazing.  We love her.  She just 'gets' H and inspires him and reigns him in at once.  So his letter, which is translated as: "You are good at rainbows" cracked me up.   She has been a constant cheerleader and motivator in his life for the past nine months and that's his takeaway?  Oh no he dinnn't.  But, do you know what?  She does make killer rainbows.  And if that's what most impresses him at this point, we're okay.

We're also okay with asparagus pasta, which I've been making since I first read the recipe in Gourmet magazine in the years before email and cellphones.  I still miss Gourmet magazine, although I love that its last Editor-in-Chief, Ruth Reichl, is on Twitter and tweets fabulous missives every morning that make me wish I were her.  Example:  "Late spring.  Damp green grass beneath my feet.  A flock of tiny yellow birds.  Local strawberries, so sweet, drenched in thick Jersey cream."  Come on.  I'm going to practice doing mornings like Ruth Reichl. Right now my tweet would read:  "Leftover coffee.  F'ing Mourning Doves.  Cheerios."  Doesn't quite have the same ring.

But back to the pasta.  It's good.  Unique in that the stems of the asparagus are blended to make the sauce.  I've been making it for 10+ years and it's a go-to dish each spring.  Unfortunately I've been making it so long that there's no longer a recipe and I've long ago lost my torn page from Gourmet, so here's going back to the drawing board:

Asparagus Pasta

1 large bunch asparagus, tips and stems divided
1 lemon, zested and juiced
1 lb dried pasta, such as penne or farfalle.
2-4 tablespoons olive oil
1/3 cup grated Parmesan
Salt and pepper, to taste

1.  Heat a stockpot of water to boiling.  Add a drainer insert if you have one.

2. Rinse asparagus well and chop and discard the tough 1 inch off the bottoms of the stalks.  Then chop the tips and the next 3/4 inch off the stalks and add to the stockpot.  Boil the top bits for one minute and then drain and reserve in a bowl.

3. Chop the remainder of the asparagus into approx. 1" pieces.  Add to boiling water and let it go longer than you would think.  Like 7-8 minutes at a rapid boil.  Turn that business to mush.  Remove asparagus and drain.

4. Add pasta to pot for recommended cooking time.  Deliver the removed asparagus to a blender with about 1/4 cup of the pasta water, the zest and juice of a lemon, and 2-4 tablespoons olive oil. Blend it up.

5.  Drain the pasta.  Return it to the stockpot on low and add the contents of the blender along with a good 1/3 cup of grated Parmesan. Add reserved aspargus tips. Stir to combine and serve with extra grated parmesan.

 Lemony lemoness.

 Blended sauce, pre-pasta.  Gorgeous spring color. 

Finished dish.

I like this dish because it makes a lot out of a little.  It's very simple and I feel a very Italian dish.  And it is gooooood.  

What is also good is calling any offshoot of the University of Michigan Hospital.  You will get a recording that says, "You've reached such and such, if this is an emergency, hang up and dial 911."  I always laugh and think, really? if my kid were choking would my first call be to my pediatrician? Who would do that?   I think the recording would be so much funnier by adding one simple word: fool.  "You've reached the Ann Arbor West Clinic of the University of Michigan Hospital.  If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 911, FOOL."  

The end.  And I am also good at rainbows.  

Roasted Potato, Corn and Tomato Salad, a.k.a. Leah Fantasia Supreme

One summer in high school I worked at a little sandwich shop.  It was owned by a vaguely shady Portuguese man and, looking back, was probably some kind of shell operation or front for illegal goings-on.  Part of why I think that is because he gave me, as a 16 or 17 year old kid, an inordinate amount of responsibility. And also he didn't seem to care in the least whether or not the shop turned a profit, which now seems strange. I had keys to the place and often opened or closed by myself.  He let me name the sandwiches and even make new ones to put on the menu.  The shop was down the street from a restaurant called the Canadian Honker so I made a sandwich and called it the American Bonker.  Oh the joy it gave me to share a knowing nod when someone got the joke. And what a joke it was! Hilarious knee-slapper, I know.

You know how sometimes you're so familiar with something that you don't realize it's weird?  For example, growing up my family always had tacos with french fries. Not until adulthood when I was telling someone how my mom made the best homemade fries and we had them every taco night did I realize it was strange.  It helped that my friend let me know in no uncertain terms that serving french fries with tacos was bat-shit crazy. It wasn't until I wrote about the American Bonker that I realized what a thoroughly horrid name Canadian Honker is for a restaurant.  Awful.  Even if there were a lot of Canadian geese in town, come on.

There was a hair salon in Chicago called Blood, Sweat and Shears which might surpass Canadian Honker in the Hall of Bad Business Names, but not by much.  Note to those naming a business: don't include the words blood, sweat or honker.  Now, I'm no M.B.A. but I'm guessing there's a course covering that little kernel of truth.  However, the Hairport, if located anywhere near an airport, is a totally acceptable name for a salon.

Anyway, I was drinking an Arnie Palmer (the finest of summertime drinks) one day when the owner came in and asked what I was drinking.  I told him it was iced tea and lemonade and offered a taste.  He was a fan and asked what it was called.  Because I was 16 or 17 I told him it was called the Leah Fantasia Supreme.  He had me put it on the menu.  Customers would say, "Isn't that just an Arnold Palmer?" and I would reply "not here."

So last week I was making beef kabobs with yogurt herb sauce and needed a side dish.  I roasted some potatoes and tomatoes, cut some corn off the cob and tossed it with a bunch of basil and a super light and lemony vinaigrette.  It turned out pretty good.  A keepah as they would say in Rhode Island. Carter's dad was over and asked what the dish was called.  Roasted potato, corn, tomato and basil salad was a bit mundane so I reincarnated the Leah Fantasia Supreme.  My stories are rich in meaning.

Potatoes (that remained after I snacked) and corn.

Done.

Roasted Potato, Corn and Tomato Salad (for six)

3 ears of corn, cooked and cut off the cob
1 lb. chopped (about 3/4") red potatoes
1 pint cherry tomatoes
1/2 cup basil leaves, chopped

3 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
2 tablespoons lemon juice
salt and pepper

Coat a sheet pan with a little olive oil and roast the tomatoes in a 250-degree oven for 2-3 hours.  Yes it's a long time, but they are so much better when cooked slowly.  And lowly.

Put roasted tomatoes in a bowl and use the same sheet pan, coated anew with oil if needed, and add the potatoes.  Increase oven temperature to 350 and roast tomatoes until crisp and browned, about 30-40 minutes.

Combine oil, vinegar, lemon juice and salt and pepper.  Place roasted potatoes and corn in a serving bowl, add basil and vinaigrette, stir to combine.  Add tomatoes last because they're fragile little creatures (just like me) and gently incorporate.

I'll be making this salad all summer.  Which officially begins for us at noon on Friday.  GACK.  No, it will be fun...it will be fun...it will be fun...

 

I have yet to kill my gardenia topiaries.  Calling CNN right now.  The end.  

Bell's Oberon Carnitas and Happy Peony Season

I love my peonies.  When we moved into this house it was late winter/early spring.  There was nothing growing at all.  That spring was fun to see what our yard produced.  Let me say that we bought this house for the yard.  We were accustomed to Chicago-sized lots where your garden was basically a window-box.  So that first year when multiple peony bushes sprouted all along our driveway and front beds was good times.  Almost makes buying this house at the very height of the market worth it.  No, no it doesn't.

So peony season is the best.  I cut those suckers just as fast as they bloom and fill the house with flowers.  Last week we were backing down the driveway and I caught sight of the first burst of peony color.  I might have screeched in excitement.  I might have screeched loudly and intensely enough to make Carter slam on the brakes like he'd backed over the dog, whip his head toward me and yell, "OHMYGODWHAT?"  It was then that I'd realized my misstep.  "Um....I'm just pleased to see the first peony blooming" was not quite as satisfactory of an answer as I needed.  He then did that thing he does where he puts his face in his hands and then looks up to the sky and pretends to be asking God for help.  It's cute.

So I could go on and on about the peonies. (Mr. T. voice: "I pity the fool who goes on about the peonies.  Because you've won that contest.")   But a bit more:  they were about three weeks early this year.  They were cut and arranged for Memorial Day, which hasn't before happened.  We had special guests this year, and there wasn't a lot of sleeping going on.  What there was a lot of, besides peonies?  CARNITAS.

Bell's Oberon Carnitas (for 4-6)

2ish lbs. pork loin, cut into about 2-inch chunks

Spice rub
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp chile powder

Mix spice rub and coat the pork chunks.  Heat a heavy, oven-proof pot to medium high and add a few pieces of pork at a time to sear.

Remove pieces when seared on all sides and continue to cook remaining pork.

When all the pork is cooked and removed, add one of these beauties (Bell's Oberon, Go Michigan!) or something similar to the pan, with the juice of one orange.  Scrape the bottom of the pan with a wooden spoon to scrape up all that spicy pork loveliness.  Preheat oven to 250 degrees.

Nestle all the pork back into the beery sauce, cover, and cook in the 250 degree oven for 2 hours.  Shred with two forks and go to town on this business because it is so flipping good.

Serve with any or all of the following:
Warmed corn tortillas (warmed in microwave and covered with a damp kitchen towel
Guacamole or avocado slices
Lime crema (me being fancy for Greek yogurt mixed with a bunch of lime juice.  really good.)
Green salsa, also known as salsa verde for those who speak Espanol
Chopped fresh cilantro (always funny to put a spring on your front tooth and smile widely at your guests.  Always.)
Thinly sliced radishes
Chopped green onions
Chopped lettuce
Chopped tomatoes
Cheese - a good Queso Blanco or Mexican blend (not really necessary but go Dairyland!)
Beer

So there we were.  Memorial Day weekend.  Special guests.  Calling "Pork me" when a new taco was needed (or wanted).  Really good corn on the cob that came from elsewhere than here. (Eat locally except when you want early corn.  Or citrus.  Or bananas.  Sorry.)  Crowdpleaser.

Watermelon, Feta and Cilantro Salad. Plus how I feel about birds.

A few years back my friend Heather sent me a "recipe" for a salad she raved about.  I was dubious.  Her concoction:  Throw a bunch of chopped seedless watermelon into a big bowl with a handful of chopped cilantro, about the same amount of Feta, some chopped red onion and a big squeeze of lime.  

Ah, yes, that's why we're friends.  As she'd never steered me wrong, I gave it a whirl and it was great.  I'd forgotten about it completely until I found myself last weekend with a big watermelon and a need for a side dish.  

Every so often we let the boys take turns in planning our meals for the day.  It's usually a Sunday and we usually let them only pick the main course for dinner.  Because one can have only so many pancakes in a 24-hour period.  So last Sunday was D.'s turn and he wanted ribs.  I looked at Carter suspiciously then I looked at D. and asked if anyone had influenced him in his decision.  Maybe I should've been a detective?  I mean, perhaps I've been watching too much True Crime, but I think I nailed that interrogation.  Anyway, he claimed he had arrived at the decision by himself.  So I made ribs.  And cornbread muffins.  And corn on the cob.  I needed to round out the meal with something light and lively so I rethought Heather's salad.  Something light and tinged with citrus to go with the heavy ribs and buttery corn?  Perfect.  

Watermelon, Feta and Cilantro Salad (for 6 as a side dish)

5 cups cubed seedless watermelon

1/3 cup finely crumbled Feta

1/3 cup chopped cilantro

1/3 cup chopped red onion

1/2 lime, juiced (add lime zest for more flavor)

1/2 teaspoon salt

Combine all ingredients in a bowl, give a good stir and refrigerate until serving.  

Reviews

Carter:  "I didn't think I'd like this but I really do."  When I reminded him that was almost exactly the same thing he said when I'd served it three years ago he replied, "Well there you go.  Do I need to be worried about 2015?"

D: "What is that white stuff?"  When I replied: "salty cheese," he was good.   

H: "May I please have another rib instead?"  As he asked politely, we indulged and just gave him a wedge of plain watermelon.

So our family dinners go much more smoothly more than one of us has a hand in planning it.  This one was great.  It was a beautiful evening, we ate outside on our deck.  The jr. eaters were enthusiastic and the talk was lively and not just us telling them to (pick one) chew with their mouths shut, keep their voices below screeching level, elbows off the table, don't say pee/poop/butt at the dinner table, etc.  

What was most annoying at this dinner?  THE BIRDS.  They were so loud in general and we have some mourning doves who are tearing up our deck furniture cushions, ostensibly to build their nests also on our property and to further terrorize us.  They scare me because I think they're going to go after my hair as a nesting material.  Honestly if I were a bird, I probably would.  My hair, while not that attractive as hair, would make a kick-ass bird's nest.  

These are the same birds that have prevented me from hanging baskets on our front porch because they build nests in the baskets and get super territorial when baby hellion mourning doves are concerned.  I do not care for birds.  Especially the pigeon-rat variety of birds.  

Our township had an item on it's voting ballot to allow homeowners to shoot mourning doves as they do game birds.  I voted yes.  Needless to say, it didn't pass.  

I hear you, Betty. (Shooting her neighbor's homing pigeons, one of my favorite moments in television.)

The end.  XOX.

Pork and Mango Skewers and also Shopping Sucks.

As much as I love food and the planning and preparing of meals, I really don't like going to the grocery store.  Awful.  I shop like a hoarder because I dislike it so much.  Or maybe I just like having six bottles of barbecue sauce in my pantry.  We ran out of ketchup once and Carter was dumbfounded.  WE NEVER RUN OUT OF KETCHUP.  It was like watching Dan Jansen fall during that Olympic speed skating race he was a shoo-in to win.  (I can't believe that's the first comparison I thought of.  Yes, it was EXACTLY like that.)  Witnessing the impossible.  But I truly do get twitchy if our reserve rolls of TP number less than ten.

Part of my anti-shopping bent is for sure my attitude toward my fellow shoppers.  I don't like them. They bug me as follows:
1. Stopping their carts in the middle of the aisle so nobody can pass on either side.
2. Stopping to slowly compare nutritional labels directly in front of the yogurt/cheese/cereal I want.
3. Other people's kids.*
4. Check writers.  At the very least use a debit card.  You obviously have a bank account.
5. Asking me about the items in my cart.  Just pony up the two dollars for the same tortillas and give it a whirl.
6. Kids over, say, 5 years old who are allowed to ride in carts.  Because these are usually the kids who would benefit from not riding in carts.

Wow, only six?  I'm much less of a B than I'd thought.  Nice.

*Now, my boys are not, by any stretch of imagination, particularly well-behaved.  There was an 'incident' at Target C. 2008 when my strategy of buying them a bag of popcorn at the snack bar to keep them busy while I shopped turned horribly wrong and they began sticking the kernels up each other's noses and shooting it out of their nostrils while shrieking with laughter.  Not my parenting high point, but I pretended I was their nanny and announced very loudly that their 'mother' was going to be disappointed when I told her how poorly they were behaving.  So there was that.  But what really gets me are the parents who pretend their child's behavior isn't a cause for concern.  I recently witnessed a woman whose child was chucking - not simply tossing - items out of their cart and the woman did the Parenting Magazine bit and was like, "Nigel (oh for Christ's sake NIGEL), we don't throw things out of Mommy's basket.  Would you like an organic grape?"  You know the tone she used.  You know it already.  Placating and dulcet.  KILLS ME.

So because I would rather poke my eyes out than go to the grocery store I've become pretty good at using what we've got on hand to make a meal.  Last week Carter called on Wednesday with news that his Thursday meeting in California was cancelled and that he'd be home for dinner.  Super.  Except there was no dinner.  And there was no way I was going to the store.  I should add that in no way does he expect a home-cooked dinner, but I kind of feel like it's the least I can do.  I have come to despise the whole airport "process" and he does it every week.  So I make him dinner.  I had a pork tenderloin in the freezer that I pulled out to thaw.  Then I checked out the contents of the fridge.  I had a mango and some zucchini that needed to be used.  Ding ding ding.

Pork and Mango Skewers
Cube the pork in about 1 inch pieces.  Do the same to the mango.  Place on skewers.  I love the word skewer.

Pour some sweet chili sauce over the skewers, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate.

Sweet Chili Sauce. 

Ready to grill.

Grilled. Fini.  

So I served these over rice and they were, excuse the brag, fantastic.  Will make these again.  Will make these for guests.  

For the vegetable, I served zucchini super thinly sliced and tossed with a little olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper and thyme leaves.  I used my mandoline to slice the zucchini, but as I'm typing this I'm thinking a vegetable peeler doing long thin slices of zucchini would maybe be better.  But as it was:

I love zucchini but overcooked zucchini?  Holy yuck.  That's the thing: it goes from great and firm to overcooked and mushy awfulness in an instant.  That's why I love serving it raw, as above.  

So it was a really good meal, with just using what we had on hand and without going to the grocery store and, God forbid, using the self-checkout line.  Self check-outs. Christ.  Signs should be posted on those things that read: "We've thrown the concept of customer service out the window.  Welcome."  I've given up on them completely after my last attempt left me talking back to the thing like a crazy woman. "I DID place my item on the belt, you a-hole."  Anyway, it takes me longer to find and scan those dumb barcodes and key in my produce numbers than it does to wait in the longest line.  So I choose the line with the real person.  And the National Enquirer.  The End.