You could search the world over, and I doubt you would find a family as hard to cook for as mine. Some members of the Clinch household aren’t bad. They will eat peppers, onions and spices with names that can’t be pronounced. Others restrict my culinary creativity to salt and pepper ,and think most vegetables are just plain, and I quote, “icky.”
And to think I could have rivaled Martha Stewart when it came to a savory quiche.
In order to please them when they are all home at the same time, I am forced to stick to a few select entrées. I get to choose from grilled hamburgers, pizza and my award-winning, one-ingredient calzones. While the limited menu simply bores the braver eaters, anything other than those three options displeases the picky ones, and they have been known to throw themselves on the floor and writhe in agony when I think outside the box.
Yet every so often, I just can’t help myself and the desire to break out of my three-choice menu overcomes me. I hit the recipe books, search the websites and seek the advice of family pleasing friends.
“What’s for supper?” they asked upon their entrance on a recent night. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, so I stood back, let out a heartfelt “Ta da!” and awaited their colorful remarks and commentary.
As if the meal were a wild animal, they ap- proached it with great trepidation. “What is it?” they asked as they took in the sight of the delightful dish.
“Smells kinda gross,” one of them sneered.
“What’s that disgusting stuff on top of it?” asked another.
Their inquiries were colorful, and they ended it with, “Ah no! Surely she hasn’t been back into the paprika!” They then circled the kitchen island, sniffing and bending in for a closer look and at times poking at the dish with a wooden spoon to see if it would move.
While some members of the clan were willing to taste it, others flat out refused to give it a try and were heading to the cupboards in search of a box of mac and cheese.
“Not so fast!” I finally declared. “We will sit as a family, and you will try this dish and gag it down if you have to. We are going to expand our horizons, try new things and, doggone it, I’m going to figure out how to integrate rosemary into my cooking if it kills us all!”
They did it! You have to give them credit. Although the pickiest among them darn near had to be force-fed, they actually ate my new culinary dish.
When I asked them how they liked it, the review was unanimous — it wasn’t terrible.
Speaking of bad things, there is nothing more dreaded and feared worldwide than a wisdom-tooth extraction. The mere mention of the procedure makes hearts race, hands tremble and folks bounce out of a dentist chair faster than you can say “exodontia.”
We Clinches have been through it many a time. I, for one, did not enjoy it and although Vernon, our eldest and wise-cracking son, proclaimed he could drive immediately following the procedure, it was no walk in the park for him either.
Huey and Lawrence came through with flying colors, but would rather eat one of my creative casseroles than to go through it again.
All familial wisdom-tooth extractions were complete except for our little Charlie, who isn’t so little anymore. Oh, how that little guy suffered. I doctored him up, iced him down and gave him as many juices and popsicles as he wanted — but to no avail.
Oh, the pain he endured. It was no picnic, I’ll give you that. Thank heavens for the wisdom of our oral surgeon who performed yet another procedure on Charlie to expedite healing and get to the root of the problem.
Feeling much better, we took Charlie back in for one more minor procedure.
“How bad will this hurt?” he asked with big eyes as he sat in the dental chair.
“It isn’t terrible,” the nurse said.
“Ah, no!” Charlie exclaimed.
“What?” the nurse asked as she turned around.
“That’s how we describe my mom’s cooking.”
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].