Making a meal of planning an app

I used to love cooking. I was a huge fan of recipe magazines and cookbooks (see evidence in photo of a small portion of my collection). Always looking for something new to try. The Builder and I used to have at least one new dish to try each week, if not more. I hated eating the same thing two weeks in a row.

Used to.

All of this, of course, was pre-children. When I was dealing with two adults with relatively adventurous palates and had all the time in the world to pontificate about what we'd have for dinner that night. Now I have four palates: two relatively adventurous, one relatively adventurous for a kid, and Mr5, who would happily live on ham and salad for the rest of his life.

So I have to plan meals. A week in advance. And generally featuring mostly things we've had before. Things I know that Mr8 and Mr5 will eat. Boring things. All of which makes meal planning about as exciting as flossing one's teeth.

Having said that, I have learned through the school of 'Cruskits for lunchboxes' that meal planning is essential. I do a weekly shop, including stuff for lunches, and top up with fruit and bits and pieces as the week progresses (which is to say that I'm still at the supermarket every second day but it's only for small items). But there's great value in arriving home after Little Ninjas or swimming or whatever and knowing the 'fixings' for a meal are at hand.

As I wandered through the supermarket today, menu planned, list in hand, I began to invent a new app. A meal planning app. You put in your details (number of adults, number of kids, general likes and dislikes, level of cooking skill), fighting the auto-correct all the way, and it sends you, once a week, a full week's menus, with shopping list. All the deciding done for you. No need to sit down and think 'what the hell am I going to make for dinner tonight?'.

I think it would sell.

There is an app out there called 'What's For Dinner?', which seems to offer access to lots of recipes, your own and other people's. It's almost there. Now if they could just make the decisions for you, I reckon they'd be on to a winner.

Until, of course, they create an app that actually does the cooking for you. And the washing up.

Now that would would make me app happy.

What would you put in a meal-planning app? What's the best food/cooking app you've tried?

This'll cure what ails you

Last week, when I needed it most, my Mum presented me with a container of chicken soup to take home. I had it for lunch the next day, a cold, wet, rainy day, when Mr4 was at home and my work remained undone. It was a revelation in a bowl, that soup. Fragrant lemon, hearty barley, savoury leek... Perfect for one of Those days.

I posted a little status update on Facebook claiming that it would 'cure what ails you', and was immediately asked for the recipe.

So here it is. The recipe is from mum's newly purchased cookbook Winter Food, published by Penguin. I had a quick look through it while I was visiting and can assure you that it looks worth the price of admission. They should have just called it The Comfort Cookbook and been done with it. But I digress...

Barley Soup with chicken, leek and mushrooms

50g pearl barley
juice and zest of one lemon
5 cups chicken stock
1 chicken breast, thinly sliced
1-2 tablespoons of butter
2 leeks, thinly sliced
4 large mushrooms, thinly sliced
1/2 cup white wine
salt and freshly ground black pepper
4-5 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley

Place barley, lemon juice and stock in a saucepan and slowly bring it to the boil. Cover and simmer for about 40 minutes or until barley is tender. Add chicken and cook for 4-5 minutes until tender.


Meanwhile, heat butter in a frying pan and gently cook leeks and mushrooms until golden-brown. Add wine to deglaze the pan, then add the vegetables and liquid to soup. Season with salt and pepper. Add parsley, and check seasoning. Ladle soup into bowls, distributing chicken evenly.

I liked it so much, I made it for dinner on Sunday night for the Builder and I as we recovered from our big Saturday night at the hall. It hit the spot perfectly. I had a large lemon and, at Mum's suggestion, used only half the zest. It was enough. Perfect for even those self-inflicted illnesses...

[image: this cute cloud mobile from leptitpapillon/etsy would also cheer up one of Those days.]

'Fess up: How many empty jars do you have?

On Friday night, The Builder made his Fibro-famous spaghetti bolognaise, full of super-secret ingredients, including a jar of pasta sauce. After we had wolfed down his amazingly good dish (I figure exuberant praise might result in more cooking from The Builder), I did the washing up. Because we all know that the joys of the washing up can never be underestimated.

I washed the pasta-sauce jar, dried it lovingly and put it away in the cupboard - alongside the 500 other jars that I have lovingly washed and put away, awaiting... what, exactly?

I have a colony of glass jars settled in my corner cupboard. Waiting. Apparently breeding.

While I occasionally use one to shake up a salad dressing and I have been known to make a batch of chutney or relish, the chance of me ever needing 501 jars all at once are extremely slim. And, even so, I still covet these blue Mason jars and consider adding them to my motley collection of IXL, Vegemite, mayonnaise and jam jars.

It's one of my worst examples of 'you never know' hoarding. Beetroot aside.

And now I need to know, just how many jars do you have? Lurking in the cupboard under the sink or stashed away in another secret location. Just how many.

Nuggets of wisdom from a fussy eater

There’s a war underway in the Fibro. Not a big one. Not even a constant one. Battles only arise at 6pm every night. But, as wars tend to do, it’s wearing me down. Words like ‘futility’ come to mind a lot.

Mr3 is, for the most part, a sunshiney kind of guy. His favourite phrase at present is ‘of course’ – as in ‘of course I will’, ‘of course I do’, ‘of course you can’ – usually accompanied by a smile.

But put an evening meal in front of him and that all changes. He is not only the world’s slowest eater, but he is in line to be the world’s fussiest. He told me, quite happily, one day that he didn’t like anything I made him for dinner except nuggets and chips, and why did we only have them on Friday when we could be having them every night of the week. Why indeed.

I try, I really do. We eat a varied menu around here and when The Builder and I want to branch out into curries and chillies and all things hot (which we love and will not give up simply because there are underdeveloped palates in the house), I simply make two meals. Exotica for us, El Blando for the boys.

Despite my best efforts, however, the most-repeated phrase in the Fibro is ‘Mr3, eat your dinner’. ‘Eat your dinner.’ ‘Eat your dinner.’ ‘Eat your dinner.’ Over and over again. I hear it in my dreams.

I insist he tries everything (the whole time remembering every article I’ve ever read on how mums who insist their children clean their plates are part of the obesity problem). He sighs, and talks, and lolls about, and puts his finger up his nose, and generally faffs about like there’s no tomorrow.

It’s so incredibly frustrating. Particularly as Mr6 is one of those kids who eats pretty much everything, including olives, salami, and fish. But not pumpkin.

Mr3 and The Builder had a little talk last week. There was much discussion about how dinners make you big and strong, and good boys eat their dinner, and all of that. Then The Builder asked, ‘So are you going to eat your dinner tonight?’. Mr3 considered the question, pursed his lips, wrinkled his brow and said, ‘Depends what we’re having.’

I used to have a Weetbix rule. If you didn’t eat what was put in front of you at dinner time, you ate Weetbix or went hungry. This worked a treat on Mr6 who, like me, has an aversion to cereal at dinnertime. Not so with Mr3. It got to the point where he was asking for Weetbix. Talk about heartbreaking.

So the Weetbix is gone, but I persist. One day, I just know, he’s going to sit down and clear his plate.

If not, I won’t have to worry any more about my roast skills. He’ll be coming home at 21 just for Mum’s Chicken Nuggets.

{image: portent.org}

Leftovers are the new takeaway

My move south last year coincided with the GFC, which wasn't a bad thing. It actually helped me through those first few months when my shopping options dwindled to not very many and the home delivery menus no longer needed a drawer of their own. From a funky inner-west bastion of Thai, Vietnamese, Greek, Lebanese, Italian et al cheap eateries, I have been reduced to multinational pizza joints, multinational fast food joints, fish and chips, a whole lot of Chinese restaurants (sweet and sour anyone?) and one lone Indian (pretty good, since you asked).

So I've hit the kitchen. Now if I want a night off from cooking for the family, I need to have planned (48 hours in advance) leftovers. Tasty leftovers. Leftovers that people will actually eat without turning their noses up and feigning sudden illness. Leftovers that won't cause sudden illness.

It's not easy. My new BFFs are recipe mags like Super Food Ideas and Good Taste, and you know what - they're great! Easy, tasty meals that don't require a list of gourmet ingredients as long as my arm. I'm in love. But not as much as I love taste.com.au, the online archive of these two mags and three more besides.

We're saving heaps of money, too. I fed four of us for $107 last week. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I know that there are people who can do it for less (possibly the same people who save their soap scraps to make new bars), but it used to cost me closer to $200 and we'd have takeaway two nights a week on top of that.

I discovered that a shopping list is the best place to start when you want to save money and eat well. Plan your meals like Nanna used to. Turns out that old-fashioned is the way forward.