When I was little dinnertime was nothing like the fights we have around here these days. Mom made a lot (I am talking 5 out of 7 days worth) of casseroles. Here in Minnesota they call them a hot dish, but the concept is the same: open fridge, choose several items in order of expiration date, mix with a can of cream of whatever you’ve got, bake (with cheese if we were lucky), eat. I just told my mom the other day how the brilliance of this had only now occurred to me (minus the cream soup – I usually lean toward making a roux instead). I am repeating history minus one major thing. I had to eat the casserole (or at the very least, consume a “Girl Scout no-thank-you helping – three bites) and Ellen…well, I am just not in a place for the screaming tired end of day rants that can last up to 45 minutes. I do feel like a marginal parent for not forcing the issue, my greatest fear being that she grows up to eat like my sister (who has a top ten that rotates regularly and consists of little more than mac and cheese and pizza I was just corrected, apparently it rotates between mac an cheese and steak.  At least she still eats meat!). I so hope that this will be a phase. I mean, we are foodies for goodness sake!! This is what I call a meal:

Ham, cheese and Asparagus Crepe at Mon Ami Gabi

I do have to admit, never underestimate the power of the pasta. Last night after deciding she was all done with her dinner after cleaning her plate one time, after two marshmallows (“dessert”), she cleaned up the rest of the pasta. Funny girl.

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