How Dinner Happens

You know by now that there is a menu.  And a (grocery) list.  And, excepting this week, groceries.

After the above, however, it all becomes what is commonly known as a crap shoot, depending largely on my mood, and...a few other things that are not as important as my mood.





Today, I am in the mood for butternut squash.  This is fortuitous, since in addition to three onions, two sweet potatoes and a can of green enchilada sauce, I've got nothin'.

 I took the butternuts, two small-ish beauties, and halved them.  I scooped out the guts, flinging seeds and dropping guts on the floor.  I watched Molly decide that she does not care for butternut guts.    I put them on a cookie sheet (the butternuts, not the guts), brushed them with olive oil, and roasted them for 40 minutes at 400 degrees.

Meanwhile, I noticed the leftover Superbowl cheese in the fridge (sharp cheddar and pepper jack), and decided to make bread for grilled cheese sandwiches...

...even though my people will be dumbfounded at the sight of grilled cheese sandwiches sitting next to butternut squash soup, since they firmly believe that grilled cheese sandwiches can only sit next to tomato soup.

But then I realized that I am almost out of flour.

But then I spotted some tortillas, and decided that butternut squash soup and cheese quesadillas is the newest, hottest pairing.

Which bring me to the seminal point of this post:

Sometimes dinner is a creative work of art, and sometimes it's just food.

The realization of this truth will, as truth is meant to do, set you free.  At the beginning of today's process, I intended to come up with a work of art.  Somewhere along the way I realized that:

a) nobody here is going to be thrilled with butternut squash soup.

b) regardless, it will be gone in the blink of an eye.

So there you have it, dear reader:  How Dinner Happens.