This week was one of those weeks that both dragged on painfully slowly, yet also seemed to pass in a blur. I’m not sure I can account for much of what I did back at home this week—it’s all a jumble of homework, quickie meals assembled from odds and ends, paper-grading, house cleaning in fits and spurts (although the kids’ suitcases STILL haven’t been unpacked yet from Labor Day weekend) and lots of ogling of kitty faces on our county's animal shelter web site.
In an ideal world I would be able to come home from work and whip up a delicious, made-from-scratch meal every night for my family, complete with a mouth-watering dessert, which we would enjoy in leisure on the back porch, while listening to the cicadas rev up for their night-time concert. But in reality most weeks we cycle through some basic staple meals: spaghetti night, veggie burgers, sandwiches and salad, Mexican (usually beans and rice with tortillas on the side, and a quesadilla for T.), and L., of course, barely subsists on his own personal staple of stir-fried tofu with one or two raw spinach leaves.
Last night I had a craving for a large taco and bean salad, the kind I ordered when we went out to eat with my family over the Labor Day weekend. I used to be able to buy the large taco salad shells at our local grocery store, but they discontinued them for some strange reason; nor can I find them anywhere else. Then, out of the fog that was my Thursday afternoon dinner-time state of mind I realized that taco salad shells are just large tortillas folded over some type of mold and baked until they are crispy.
Duh.
We always have tons of tortillas on hand in the crisper drawer of the refrigerator, so I took out a few, draped them over oven safe bowls, and presto!, taco salad shells. While I was taking the grown-up ones out of the oven T., who usually always helps me in the kitchen (I wonder if she’ll still sit at the counter when she’s fifteen and help me cook?) asked, “how come I can’t have a ME-sized taco salad shell?”
Why not, indeed? I took a sharp knife and with the tortilla on a cutting board, I easily cut a smaller circle out of the middle of a tortilla.
I oiled a ramekin (I didn't do this with the first one and, although the shell eventually popped off when the ramekin cooled, oiling it made for instant removal), draped the tortilla on top, pushing down with my hands so it would take shape
and baked it for about seven minutes--keep an eye on the oven so they don't brown too quickly. We pulled out the cutest little taco salad shells you could imagine—-T. was absolutely delighted with hers, and pronounced it "just the right size". I’m still working on getting her to eat beans (I haven’t given up hope—apparently the average kid might need a food re-introduced to them ten times before they’ll eat it), but we filled one of her shells with rice and cheese, and another with chopped up veggies: lettuce, peppers, edamame, and spinach leaves.
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Here's a link to a post I wrote last year for 9/11. Today I'll be thinking about the strength and power of people to overcome and move on, and remembering all those who were lost.
I oiled a ramekin (I didn't do this with the first one and, although the shell eventually popped off when the ramekin cooled, oiling it made for instant removal), draped the tortilla on top, pushing down with my hands so it would take shape
and baked it for about seven minutes--keep an eye on the oven so they don't brown too quickly. We pulled out the cutest little taco salad shells you could imagine—-T. was absolutely delighted with hers, and pronounced it "just the right size". I’m still working on getting her to eat beans (I haven’t given up hope—apparently the average kid might need a food re-introduced to them ten times before they’ll eat it), but we filled one of her shells with rice and cheese, and another with chopped up veggies: lettuce, peppers, edamame, and spinach leaves.
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Here's a link to a post I wrote last year for 9/11. Today I'll be thinking about the strength and power of people to overcome and move on, and remembering all those who were lost.