The Dinnertime Blues

I decided recently that I was in a rut. A serious dinnertime rut. We've been married 21+ years now, and have some picky eaters in our crew. Not terribly picky, but let's just say, they like what they like.

I've made dinner for the majority of those 21 years. That's a lot of dinners. But, my repertoire is somewhat limited by the eaters of the food. Every now and then I try to branch out, but it often comes back to bite me in my well-padded tushy-area.

Well, a couple of weeks ago I decided to try to climb out of the rut, at least once a week, anyway. I figure the kids can handle that, and if they don't like it, they won't wither and die.

So, I've been scouring websites and food blogs, trying to find some new recipes that are budget-friendly, not too outrageous, but still different from the same stuff I've been making forever. I found several great ideas, and have had fun tucking some new ingredients into my shopping cart.

The other night, I tried a new recipe. I had been looking forward to this one for several days, because it's a knock-off of Olive Garden's pasta fagioli soup. Have I mentioned that there is no Olive Garden here? Nada, zip, zilch. No soup/salad/breadstick lunches for me, baby. Not for another three years. This is a minor tragedy in my world.

But, back to my story. I was set to go--recipe hot off the printer, ingredients at the ready, kids banished from the kitchen. Even though the kids didn't stay banished, I was balancing it all pretty well for a while; the breadsticks were rising, the soup veggies were sauteeing (is that a word?), and everything smelled divine.

Note to self--skip the crushed red pepper.

Yeah, it was looking great. The kids were somewhat excited (could have been the homemade breadsticks), and DH walked in the door at just the right minute. We sat down at the table, ladled up the soup, and then I took a sip.

YOWZA! YIKES! HOLY SHAMOLIES!

You know what stinks? Trying a new recipe, making the house smell all good, carrying on despite the fact that you were so flustered by making something new that you burned three fingers on one hand, and being done in by stupid crushed red pepper flakes. That soup was so stinkin' spicy that I couldn't even eat it.

My DH ate two bowls (bless his soul), and Logan and Abby thought it was great fun soaking up some of the broth with breadsticks and then gulping down glass after glass of water. Adam and Josh had the good sense to stick with the breadsticks, and I didn't dare give any to little Dallin.

And yet, onward my friends. Onward. Next new recipe: a tasty, bow-tie pasta goulash. Not a single red pepper flake in that one. You can be darn sure of that.