Foul Balls.

Family dinner was an important part of my childhood, and I am thrilled that I am sharing this tradition with my own little family. My brother Tommy and I often tease my mom that when we were growing up there were two meals that my mom cooked; chicken and rice or beef and potatoes. Our mom did her best to shake things up, and get us to try new dishes.

The night of the apple cider sauce chicken is a night that will live on in infamy. The night ended in pizza and laughter, but our poor mom was a bit gun shy when it came to trying out new recipes.

Patrick is a very supportive eater. We have lived together since we were what I term “puppies” (read: 19 years old), so he has had to endure many a meal that would score lower than Maura’s Apple Sauce Chicken Fail. Despite my burned, battered and at times, utterly awful, there have been only a small handful of meals that he has not been able to finish.

Last night was one of those meals.

The cranberry-chipotle-pineapple meatballs were spicy and delicious- or so I thought. It is a simple dish; cranberry sauce, a can of chipotle, some pineapples and some turkey meatballs. Inexpensive, delicious, and different – or so I thought.

Jasper took one bite and screamed in horror. Patrick did his best to grin and bear it, but the spice was just too much for him. The slow burn had him scrounging the cabinets or bread, and cuddling our baby with empathy.

Dinner ended with nuggets, Boca burgers and ketchup.

Patrick looks on, with sympathy.
Patrick looks on, with sympathy.

When the ketchup finally arrived, Jasper literally shouted with joy. He looked at me as if to say, “Where were you hiding this?! What took you so long?!”

I have plenty of leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

"What took you so long?! Why were you hiding this stuff?!"
“What took you so long?! Why were you hiding this stuff?!”

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