I was so proud of myself for getting supper in the crock pot yesterday before we headed down to the Museum of Science in Boston. I had a weird kind of apprehension about it but I marked it as good so I proceeded. I forget what it's called but it's meat and cream of mushroom and onion soup mix and then you put potatoes on top. It smelled good.
It smelled great when we got home. Craig was late. I dished some out for S & K and took a bite. The meat was pretty tough. And the potatoes looked gross (and I love potatoes). Sam (of course) could barely swallow it. But he loved the potatoes. Kate was practically beside herself with anger that I would put potatoes on her plate but she ate all her meat and had seconds. I gave Sam waffles. I ate a little of it, but wasn't wild about eating it myself so felt like I couldn't make him eat it.
Craig came home, ate it, and said how good it was. And then it became clear to me: I must not have liked it too much before but since he did, I wrote down that it was good.
I think I'm just going to get rid of that cookbook (it's called the Busy People's Slow Cooker cookbook) and there's really only one thing in there that we consistently like. It just takes up space on the shelf.
Tonight, noodles with butter. and Parmesan. Craig and I had "pasta with meat sauce." I can't think of anything to make. I go through phases where I'm motivated to cook and find some new recipes that are good and mix in some old favorites . . . and then I get tired of it and muddle through a week or two until I find my groove again.
I have no idea what we're going to eat tomorrow night.