Friday, May 20, 2011


Last night, while I was cooking dinner, my son suggested we have hot dogs at some point this weekend. I just looked at him because he knows a hot dog for me means all I'm eating is chili and a bun. I can't stand boiled wieners. He tried to compromise.

"You could grill 'em and burn them a little bit like y'all like."

Now, that has possibilities because I can tolerate a grilled hot dog a little better. But when it comes to grilling, I feel strangely torn. I'll marinate or season the stuff, throw it on the hot grill, but the grilling itself? I can't STAND smoke in my hair and clothes. Someone always starts the grill for me and watches the stuff. I have a feeling my kid is about to become an expert at the latter.

At this point, he's become emboldened by my silence. "You know, if I could have my favorite barbecue meal, it'd be hot dogs, sausage, and some of those brown beans."

And I recognize, this is my child's plea for simplicity. He's been placed in the role of guinea pig and while his palate has expanded a lot and I can get him to try most stuff one time, he longs for just a few things: rice, mac n cheese, fried catfish, hamburgers, and sloppy joes. He'd eat those everyday, but I, on the other hand, want to cook something new or different every night. Plus, rice goes with grits in my mind--why the love? They have no flavor! I understand their role as staples and fillers and recognize the importance of rice in diets around the world, but rather than add a pound of sugar and butter to my diet (as I am wont to do when I have to eat white rice), I just avoid it.

So last night, he watched me butterfly pork chops, stuff them with herbed goat cheese and sundried tomatoes, sear and then braise them in a mix of whatever I felt like throwing in the pan. I also made him try squash with peppers and onions which he thought was akin to losing cell phone privileges. As a compromise, I cooked rice... with a little cheese, broccoli, and butter :-) He mostly ate the rice... and dreamed of hot dogs, apparently.

As he planned his barbecue, I reminded him Friday was out because he has basketball practice. And Saturday is probably out because of a basketball tournament.

"All day Saturday?" he asked.

Here is where y'all should be proud--I totally resisted the urge to tell him "We might be caught up." I almost explained the Rapture to him in a teasing way then remembered how biblical stories like that terrified me when I was a kid.

Hell, I'm terrified now given some of the chain text messages I've been sent. Dear concerned family, you don't have to send any more messages questioning my readiness. No, I'm not. Though there are plenty of people who have gone on that I'd love to see just one more time, I don't know about being caught up with them mid-air.

And what does one wear to be Raptured?

No comments:

Revelations and ruminations from one southern sistorian...