Those of you who know me (or read my blog regularly enough), know that I'm not a natural homemaker. I get by. Sometimes I use a jelly coated broom to more effectively sweep up dog hair, and the most excited Littles has gotten about something coming out of my oven was the time I baked the mouse. Still, I get by. For the most part. The Man still likes to tell the story of the time I served him still frozen (and consequently raw) chicken. It's why he fell in love with me.
But the last few months have been even more challenging than usual. You see, towards the end of last year, the Man, in an effort to eat more healthily (which is difficult when there is a snack bar directly outside your office door), went paleo. Don't worry if you have no clue what that means. I didn't either. Essentially, it's eating like a caveman (which is apropos for our family considering that a lot of our conversation around here consists of grunts and chest thumping). No dairy, no grains, no legumes. Organic fruits and veggies, grass fed meats, only natural sugars. You get the picture.
Needless to say, this has not exactly been my cup of tea. Not because I don't like eating healthily or exploring new things, but because trying new recipes is not in my comfort zone, and I've had to try a LOT of new recipes. This is what happens when you learn how to cook from your southern mother, southern mother-in-law, and definitely southern grandmother. A lot of my recipes contain butter and milk and butter and flour and butter and super healthy things like beans and peas and more butter and occasionally the tiniest bit of sugar and then a little more butter. And my Asian recipes contain wonderful things like soy sauce and MSG. So you see, I was in a bit of a bind.
But a few months in, I've started feeling pretty good about myself. I even made paleo lasagna this week. And may I say: what is the point of calling something "lasagna" that contains neither noodles nor cheese? I'm not saying it didn't taste good; it just wasn't lasagna.
Then, last night, as the crowning achievement in my paleo cooking career, I made chicken pot pie. Yes, without flour, without butter, without milk, without cheating and using a can of Campbell's Cream of Chicken soup, and the Bisquick box stayed in pantry while my grandmother rolled over in her retirement home.
I will be honest: the little pies looked cute, but the medium sized one was a disaster. More importantly, perhaps, I wasn't the biggest fan. Although they tasted better than I thought they were going to, I still couldn't get Tiny to take a bite of his, and I felt a little queasy after dinner. But the Man gave his stamp of approval and even told me he'd eat the leftovers for dinner tonight. Littles was bribed to eat his portion with promises of applesauce and brownies for dessert.
And yes, I cheated and used frozen peas. Because while I can barely conceive of chicken pot pie without a Bisquick crust, I absolutely cannot imagine it without peas.
At any rate, come September, the boys and I will return to our steady diet of quesadillas, stir fry, and jarred curry--and more power to us. In the meantime, we continue to support the Man in his attempt to fight the good fight and finish the race. Besides, he looks good. I just have no desire to stop eating brownies in order to look good with him. And fresh bread with melted butter. And noodles. And beans. I love beans. And chocolate milk, preferably sipped through a crazy straw (can cavemen use crazy straws?). And all the rest of the things that make life taste extraordinarily wonderful.