I’ve written earlier about my inability to think well on my feet. At work it makes for all kinds of awkward interactions, particularly when I need to, like, interact. At home, though, menus – and their requisite lists – let me simply follow a set of instructions, a task at which I am exceptionally gifted.
I work with a Sunday through Thursday calendar, since we eat take-out Mexican on Fridays, and everyone fends for themselves on Saturdays. I hate going to the market more than once or twice a week, so if you’re a likeminded (incredibly practical) person, well-planned menus become essential. Slightly wilted produce isn’t exactly a tragedy, although you may be told otherwise.
Monday is my menu-sketching day. I have a little spreadsheet. This system gives me most of the week to second-guess my choices without wasting paper! I write up the final draft and accompanying grocery list during 30 Rock, and the end product looks the same as my mom’s always did – menu up top, list below:
I’ve tried typing my lists a few times but felt, for no good reason, really stupid pulling these out at the market. Since the last thing you want is to look foolish at the grocery store, I’d recommend the handwritten list. Classic, serviceable, and one day they’ll make an unappreciated gift for your children.
So here’s my approach, tried and true, mostly:
[Saturday: Shopping and cooking-in-advance day, made more agreeable with the promise of a drink and a dinner I didn’t make at the end of it.]
Sunday: Something that takes a little more time, like one of Martha’s “Dinner for Four in About an Hour” (apparently meant for weeknight meals!).
Monday: Something that will leave leftovers, which will be made into something “new” (croquettes?) on Tuesday.
Tuesday: See Monday.
Wednesday: A dish that’s been lurking in the freezer from a Saturday make-ahead session. Can’t have too many of these.
Thursday: Something new, no quotation marks! I should rethink this placement within the week because everyone’s always too tired to be satisfactorily impressed.
The formatting lesson ends here, sorry to say. Eventually you’ll need to pick some actual food and make it look like dinner. And every month lovely menus spring, fully formed, from the pages of Gourmet, Rachael Ray, the internet, et al. – just choose your preferred level of cute and you’re off. The editors seem to have good, if anxiety-inducing, intentions, what with their pretty, balanced mains and sides and thoughtful wine pairings. So let’s forget for a minute that my family has tastes that seem incompatible with every recipe ever created, and that I nurse a blind reliance on ten dishes. Change is, ever so faintly, in the air.
30 Rock…Really?