Dinner at our house

I asked my children what they recall about dinner at our house.

I recall eating each meal together as a family. When the children were small it was easy to plan meals around their father's schedule and eat together, when they were teenagers we lived in the small town of Eagar, Arizona, where restaurants and fast food places were scarce. That meant that eating at home was the normal thing to do. I was the cook. The hard part was being creative. I owned a bazillion cookbooks. They were all stollen when we moved in 2000. Strange, the only thing stollen from us was the box of cookbooks with all my notes and favorties marked.

Conversation came naturally to us. We did not have the TV on during meal time. My recollection is that this was a relaxed and pleasant moment in our day.

Here is what my daughter, Tori, told me.

"I remember every Sunday having roast and when we were younger always making Jell-O. In Round Valley [Springerville/Eagar] I remember having tacos on New Years [she meant Christmas Eve, I'm sure]. I also remember times when we had enchilada casserole and spaghetti with the noodle bars [I asked her what noodle bars are--when she tells me, I will add it to the post]. I remember in Mesa one time you made cold soup. I didn't eat any, I thought it looked gross. I also remember having Sunday dinner with Aunt Velma. And of course I remember you making liver and onions and waiting until you left to have Brian eat it. In turn, I ate his peas. I don't know why I don't remember eating together, I just remember what we ate."

Here is what my daughter, Celia, told me.

"I remember having to eat that entire case (seemed like 10 cases) of beets. It was the only time I wished our family were bigger. I remember the flowered plastic plates all having beet stains on them and we always put the beets on the same spot. In my memory, we ate them with everything, enchilada casserole and 2 beets, meatloaf and 2 beets, etc.

This memory is followed by the next item we were to eat from our year supply, the peanut butter. I remember being VERY happy when Dad loaded up his toast with generic peanut butter, took a bite, spit it out and said he was drawing the line there. He suffered through the beets but there was no way he was eating this nasty peanut butter. We could afford to buy real peanut butter and we could give our year supply stuff to someone else.

I also remember eating that gender-confused chicken Dad killed because it crowed every morning at 5:00 am and he was on vacation. Mom decided we would eat it, so she plucked it and let it cook all day while we were out (seems like it was a Sunday - but I am sure I am wrong). [She is correct, it was a Sunday.] We came home and she served it up and we all sat there looking at it. Someone finally tried it and it was just gross, tough and stringy and blah. She didn't make us eat it and I was very relieved.

I remember eating together most of the time. Sunday slow-cooked roasts are a big memory as well and the Christmas Eve tacos."