Skip to main content

What The Birthday Boy Wants...The Birthday Boy Gets

So, Brent turned the big 4-0 yesterday.  The Big Milestone.

Usually, the tradition is that I make him his favorite meal. Naturally, right? For the second year in a row, he asked for lasagna, breadsticks, and French Silk Pie.

Okay. It's his birthday, so what he wants, he gets.  Some year, though, I'd be uber-delighted if he asked for chateaubriand or something, but as he said when I made that comment:

I don't even know what that is.

Indeed. The 40-year-old's got a point.

In a moment of carried-away fancy, I began to ruminate on ways to "spruce" up lasagna (not that lasagna needs sprucing up, really.  It's pretty amazing stuff.  I'm just projecting my own desires onto the dish).  Kale and squash, fried, breakfast lasagna, lasagna cupcakes, tuna lasagna, ad nauseum....

and when I mentioned all these amazing possibilities to him, his face got that..oh, polite little scrunch to it.  He was trying to think of a nice, supportive way to say No, please. While I love most adventurous, crazy things you make me eat, for one day out of the year, I just want a straight-up, no frills lasagna.

Fortunately for me, I'm adequate at reading non-verbals, so I backed off...all the while vowing to save Chili Cheese Fries Lasagna for another day.


Straight-up, no-frills.  The meat mixture is a beef, spicy sausage, stewed and diced tomatoes and seasonings (much in the manner of a Bolognese).  The cheeses include SLICED mozzarella and a ricotta-parmesan-egg concoction.  Good stuff, although don't you think there could be more cheese on top?  I thought so too, but the Birthday Boy was in charge of sprinkling, and I'm not going to criticize him on his birthday.

Anyway, delicious all-around.  Even better on day two (one of the firm food corollaries I stoutly stand by: Lasagna is even better on Day Two).

For dessert, French Silk Pie.  The only thing I wish I'd done differently is use powdered sugar instead of granular, because I did get that grainy, gritty mouthfeel when I ate it (although, the Birthday Boy and his offspring did not complain one jot).  I didn't make the crust, because I was a little pressed for time, but the whipped topping, the chocolate shaving, the piping...all my labor of love for my love.


And this really is kind of the sad part of the birthday.  The spiced carrot cake.  I refrained from adding raisins (which I love, but Birthday Boy does not), but I couldn't help from adding shredded carrots and crushed pineapple.  The icing is a homemade pineapple buttercream.  But as you can see, my cake decorating skills feature at an all-time low here.  In my sad defense, this icing was colored and piped on, like, five minutes before dinner and twenty minutes before we were to take our oldest son over to his basketball game.  Cake decorating takes time and patience, people, and that is the gospel truth.


Fortunately, Birthday Boy is very forgiving and didn't say a word about my super-sucky decorating skills.  Probably because the lasagna had just rocked his face off.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

In Which I Suspect I Have Latent Tendencies...Much Like The Hulk, Or Similar

I find in most normally functioning families, the members have a distinguishing role or legacy or skill of some kind. Like, he's the smart one.  Or, he's the religious one.  Or...she's the glue that helps the fam together.  Or, she's the savvy one, so she's the Power of Attorney. In my family, that system went something like this: My dad was The Dad.  Cantankerous, crotchety, and especially tight with daughters' curfew times.  Also, not a fan of driving in Big Cities. My mom was the long-suffering, patient, reserved one. My brother was the baby, the one who got away with murder, the namesake, and also, Frosty Hoarder. Me?  My legacy?  The Ruiner of Remote Controls.  No lie.  Although I've repressed the memories, my parents claim I destroyed at least two remotes in my tenure as Child Under The Roof.  Remote #1: milk spillage; Remote #2: applesauce spillage. So, now you see why my younger brother was the favorite. Anyway, t...

From Government Regulations to Chicken

So, I really wanted tonight's post to be whippy and biting and highly intelligent...and I've even got the perfect topic - government wine regulations: Europe vs. the US (subtitle: European Governments Seem to Trust Their Citizens A Whole Lot More The US, Otherwise Why Don't French, et al., Wine Labels Have the Surgeon General's "Pregnant Women Should Not Drink This/This Beverage Impairs Your Brain" Warning). But, I realized that to begin a post like that, I should probably know the answer to the question, yes?  Why do American wine labels include the warning, when, I don't know, isn't just common sense?  A quick search of this very query lands me at Wikipedia, which is good enough for a rude overview, but nothing that indicates why it's a law in the first place. Hence, more reading is required.  I hope to get to it soon.  It's almost August, two-thirds of this year is nearly gone, and sometimes I feel as I am moving very, very quickly along...

Time to Refocus

Okay.  I know I've got a Cratchit Christmas Dinner to recap and illustrate for you here, and I have every intention of doing so. But, first...something that's on my mind: food. You're shocked, yes? I happen to be on a short hiatus from school and work, and I admit, I have the tiniest desire to be working or studying right now.  I mean, someone to crack the whip at my back.  It is all so easy to fall into a lifestyle of sloth during this holiday season. I spent last weekend at my in-laws house.  They live in the country + painful below-zero temps = no exercise.  There's a fair amount of sitting on the couch, watching hunting shows or basketball games.  I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, preparing the evening meals (and by golly, I was glad to do it).  Also, my husband's mom firmly believes in three hearty, plentiful meals a day...hard to get my crowd excited about stuffed pork loin when they've just gorged on ham balls and cheesy potatoes. ...