And, So

Throwback / Flashback 1978*

There are two recipes, written on yellow index cards, affixed to my refrigerator with magnets.  The intent was to entice my daughter (the professional cook) to prepare one or the other or better, both of these recipes.  

They are: Cajun Deviled Eggs and Apple Cinnamon Chimichangas.  

Both have manageable ingredients lists and steps.  Both tout prep times of. . . well, I didn't even include the prep times on the index cards so I presume both were / are very short. 

Either, both are recipes I could pull off.  While not a professional cook, I've done okay over the years.  I may have mentioned a time or two that I never enjoyed cooking.  It was necessary. I did it.  I achieved some measure of competency through the years.   

I don't have to wait for my daughter, the professional cook, to prepare either (or both) of these recipes.  

But, I will.  

Both recipes will remain affixed to the refrigerator with magnets.  

*art class assignment: zipper study

Faux Greek

 

Thanks to my daughter's interest in culinary arts and her working to build a career as a cook / chef / kitchen manager, I don't do a lot of cooking anymore.  I never was much of a cook. Sure, I learned a thing or two from my mom and grand-mom, could certainly follow a recipe, and was able to do a bit of improvising to come up with a "special" dish. 

One such dish was a take on chicken cacciatore.  

My take was basically seared chicken thighs with onions, garlic, and canned tomato sauce that I spiced with hot or barbeque sauce. It was spooned over rice. Nothing fancy but the kids loved it. And because it was easy and fast (my two "what's for dinner?" rules) it appeared often.  

Over the years I was able to create "faux" takes on a number of fancier fare. They weren't the real deal but were tasty enough to pass muster and please the target audience. I was also able to learn how to prepare and perfect (for my family) cultural staples; macaroni and cheese, cornbread stuffing, greens, and candied yams over the years.  

Still, I considered myself a so-so cook.  

Some weeks ago my daughter brought home some of what she'd prepared at the nursing home.  She described the dish as, "a kind of Greek" chicken which is from here on out shall be dubbed, Faux Greek Chicken.      

My daughter is a much better cook than I am; much better than I ever was, better than I will ever be.

Mostly because she loves it (I never did) and because she has patience and is excited to learn more. 

I do, however, enjoy tasting her creations and will occasionally serve as her sous. 

It is all good.