Mexican Night

For anyone who knows me well, it is no surprise that I hate cooking. The very thought of it stresses me out. I hate the whole thing, from start to finish. I hate menu planning. I hate grocery shopping. I hate assembling the ingredients. I hate measuring, I hate mixing. I hate putting it in the oven. I hate watching the timer to make sure it's done. I hate taking it out. I hate cleaning up and I hate dishes. And, now that I'm pre-diabetic and only can eat from my Gluco Menu I don't even get to eat anything good any more.

But I have a husband who loves to cook. He thinks grocery shopping is relaxing and baking is therapuetic. So only once in a blue moon do I have to cook and the kids dread it. For example, on Friday night I was here without him and we had leftover lasagna that I had frozen the last time he made it, and of course when I reheated it it got a little too brown on the top. So, needless to say, I don't cook often.

But tonight is Mexican night. Back six years ago, when I was younger and more ambitious, I had a family from our church over for dinner and made all the dishes I learned now to make in Mexico. Two different kinds of tacos like I bought on the streets of Valles, San Luis Potosi and the ones I ate in Mexico City at the taco stands, and Three Cheese Chicken Enchiladas. I also made salsa and several other things. Well, they never forgot that night.

So, tonight we're having a Mexican potluck at the church. We will be bringing the only authetic food (maybe maybe not) and the only authentic Mexicans, our daughters ( of this I am sure)... but it will be a good time. I have burned a CD of Mariachi music and I guess there is a Walmart purchased piñata.

BUT, the point here is, that the family I cooked for six energetic years ago is expecting met to cook again. And so I did. Actually, I am. I'm waiting for the tacos and enchiladas to bake in the oven. I'm sure it will taste good, but I never think anything is worth my effort.

I'd rather blog ...