I’m a sucker for those “what chefs eat when they don’t want to cook” interviews but usually I end up rolling my eyes because invariably the chef says something like, I mash some canned sardines into a hot skillet, toss in some pea shoots, and reach for the truffle oil, blah-blah-blah, and I’m like, THAT’S CALLED COOKING, DINGLEBERRY. HOW ABOUT A BOWL OF COLD CEREAL.

Because that’s what normal people eat if they’re not going to cook, right? I mean, if not cereal, then popcorn, or maybe apples and peanut butter, or — and this is my go-to — hard pretzels, cheese, and white wine. (There was one chef who confessed to eating leftover cold rice. If he was feeling fancy, he’d dribble some tap water on it to soften it up. And that, my friends, is what honesty looks like: cold rice dressed with tap water. I nearly swooned.)

So that’s one kind of meal: the no-meal meal.

Then there’s the planned meal. Planned meals can be broken into two kinds: a) the “read the recipe from top to bottom and buy ingredients ahead of time” structured meal, and b) the old-hat “made from the standard stuff that’s always on hand” type. But it’s gotta be planned. That’s key.

Moving on! The leftovers meal is structured around whatever you cooked the last couple days, adding to and/or reshaping them accordingly. 

There’s the silly supper which is just straight-up leftovers, plus vegetables and a couple junky additions, like cereal or toast, to make it feel fun. One might also call this The Hodge-Podge Meal. (The only difference between this and the no-meal meal — and they are nearly indistinguishable, I admit — is that this has more components, plus veggies, which therefore makes this meal a smidge fancier.) 

And then there are the Magic Meals, unplanned and cobbled together entirely from whatever bits and pieces are banging around the kitchen, but in this case the end result, while not predetermined, is an honest-to-goodness meal, seemingly conjured out of thin air. Even to the cook, these meals feel like pure magic. 

For example. Here’s what I rustled up one night when there was (what felt like) no food in the house and I had less than zero inspiration. 

I doused my eggs with champagne vinegar.

I started with a half pound of pasta (because I doubted my concoction would be a smash hit and there’s only four of us). While the pasta boiled, I minced part of an onion I found in the fridge, the last of the celery (leaves included), and the rest of the fresh parsley. I drained a can of tuna, a can of chickpeas, and, oh hey! How about a can of black olives, too? I pounded a bit of garlic with a hefty pinch of salt and added lots of olive oil, and squeezed in the juice of a lemon. Then I remembered a container of goat cheese and tossed that in, too, the heat from the pasta turning it creamy. Since we were drowning in eggs, I quick boiled up a kettle of them. I was going to chop them in but at the last minute I decided to keep them separate. A bag of green beans from the freezer, boiled and salted, and — voila — supper! 

My son’s portion, boxed up to eat in the car because he was running out the door to youth group
(but then he left it behind in the back hall, ha).

In just minutes, I went from feeling like there was nothing to eat to dishing up a veritable feast. Made me feel like a queen, it did. And that, my friends, is how magic meals work.

So there you have it. My meals, classified: the no-meal meal, the planned meal, the leftovers meal, the silly meal, and the magic meal. What other kinds am I missing?

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (4.6.20), scatteredness, the quotidian (4.6.15), the quotidian (4.6.13), daffodils and horses, my baby’s faces, the case of the flying book, sourdough bagels.

Quotidian: daily, usual or customary;
everyday; ordinary; commonplace

The Easter Edition

For my sloppy joe contribution to our potluck lunch.

Food and family.

Eating like a Roman: with a silver platter and reclined, but minus the puking.

Red raspberry, berry cream, chocolate peanut butter, burnt Basque cheesecake.

Hours upon hours of visiting.

Filtered water.

Little dog lover.

All set: my younger daughter finally has actual competition.

Filming Easter greetings for the absentee cousin.

Hunting.

And finding: from the hens, fresh ones.

This same time, years previous: instead of a walk, kickboxing, Caribbean milk cake, a trick for cooking pasta, the quotidian (4.4.16), red raspberry pie, sun days, working lunches, cup cheese, he wore a dress.

It’s April first, the grass is greening before our very eyes and the forsythia are so brilliant it’s painful, and — it’s snowing.

But of course. This is Virginia, after all.

Upside: it’s the perfect day to tell you about chili!

I do love me a good chili and I have the recipes to prove it: chocolate-kissed chili, chicken chili, green chili, ground pork and white bean chili, black bean and sweet potato chili — you get the point. And yet somehow I manage to have a new one!

The wonders never cease.

Interestingly (to me, anyway), this chili has no garlic or chili powder. Instead, it’s seasoned with canned chiles, a medley of dried spices, beer, chocolate, and peanut butter. The canned chipotles add smokiness, the chocolate and beer add depth, and the peanut butter adds a creamy nuttiness that’s barely detectable. All together, it makes for a deliciously richly spiced chili. 

The perks of having a son with a friend who’s a beer bottler at a local brewery, whoop-whoop!

At least it better be barely detectable. I added too much the first time around — You can never have too much peanut butter! Look at me go! Wheeeeeeee! — and the chili became all about the peanut butter which was not a good thing. You want just a little.

On this, trust me.

Ground Beef Chili with Chocolate and Peanut Butter
Adapted from the NYTimes.

I used between 2 and 3 chipotle chiles which, for my family, is pushing acceptable levels of heat. I also chopped up a dried chile (a pasillo chile, perhaps?) and added it straight in; it rehydrated in the cooking process.

When making chili, I use any mix of cooked beans: black, pinto, red, kidney, etc. If the chili feels too thick, add a cup of chicken or beef broth, tomato juice, water, or more chopped tomatoes.

1 glug of oil
1 onion, diced
2 teaspoons salt
1-3 canned chipotle chiles in adobo sauce, finely chopped
1 tablespoon cocoa powder
2 teaspoons smoked paprika
¼ – ½ teaspoons cayenne powder
2 teaspoons dried oregano
2 teaspoons ground cumin
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground allspice
2 pounds ground beef
I quart diced tomatoes with juice
1 pint tomato sauce
1 cup stout beer
2 15-ounce cans pinto beans
4 ounces chocolate chips
2 tablespoons creamy peanut butter
Condiments for serving: tortilla chips, sour cream, avocado, cilantro, green onions, radishes, cheese, hot sauce, fresh lime, etc. 

Saute the onions and salt in the oil until soft. Add the chiles and spices (down through the allspice) and cook for another couple minutes. Add the ground beef and cook through, chopping it up and stirring as it cooks. Add the canned tomatoes, tomato sauce, and beer. Bring to a boil and then reduce the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes. Stir in the beans, chocolate, and peanut butter and heat through. Taste and add more salt, if needed. Serve with the condiments of your choice.

This same time, years previous: the coronavirus diaries: week four, babies and boobs, warning: this will make your eyes hurt, three stories, oven fries, flaunting my ignorance.