Asignificant part of “adulting” is that – in addition to all the domestic and outdoor chores, taking care of kids, pets, and animals around the house – presents the proverbial everyday dilemma: “What’s for dinner?” The three words that strike fear in my stomach: “Nothing, let’s rummage!” Rummage means that we look at the over-packed refrigerator to find an inventive dinner out of often nothing that is intended for dinner. Then the questions begin like some kind of “match” game. “Do you want a tuna melt?” “Grilled cheese?” “Salad?” “Oh, wait, we are out of lettuce.” “PBJ?” “Cereal?” I respond, “Grilled cheese!”
Some families establish a weekly menu that is pre-determined by the day. Growing up in my house, Sunday was fried chicken day. My mom would slave over the deep fryer, cooking multiple breaded chicken parts from four chickens. Everyone loved it! Sometimes, if there was a lot of chicken left over, we would have a piece of cold chicken on Sunday night. I still love the smell of crispy chicken frying up in the deep fryer. Monday night would be hot dogs or hamburgers cooked inside or out! Mom would try to duplicate a popular burger from a fast-food place, which was never quite right, and often heat up some chili for coney dogs. Tuesday dinner would be soup or sale dinner! Soup from the crockpot or whatever was on sale at the butcher shop, often liver with onions! To this day, I have a tough time consuming that combination. Wednesday, the ever-popular spaghetti diner! Sometimes with meatballs, always with homemade garlic bread! Everyone loved it and consumed multiple plates of spaghetti. Thursday was often leftover night; whatever did not get consumed Monday to Wednesday showed up on Thursday night! Spaghetti with hot dog pieces, goulash that definitely was a bit ghoulish on occasion.
Friday night was pizza from a local pizzeria; breadsticks were often included. I always looked forward to cold pizza and milk for breakfast on Saturday mornings while watching cartoons. On Saturday nights, we usually went out to eat: Susie Q’s for fish, Peppi’s for a burger, or a local restaurant where we could order what we wanted from the kids’ menu, or mom would cook a meatloaf! And back to Sunday’s Fried Chicken. Often our meals would include a special guest, “Spotty,” our dog. When it came to vegetables, my brother Larry would sneak food he did not like under the table, where it would mysteriously disappear. Liver, squash, and broccoli would disappear so fast and quietly unless “Spotty” nipped my brother’s finger a little too hard.