As a single mother of four small children with loads of extra time on her hands to spend in the kitchen cooking seven course gourmet meals I might occasionally take a break and produce something a bit…. simpler… for our evening sit-downs:
This is not steak and potatoes. It isn’t roasted chicken with fresh vegetables in a lemon-herb sauce. It’s not stuffed pork-chops with garlic roasted asparagus. It’s not even spaghetti.
It’s Hamburger fuckin’ Helper.
I feel like a dirtbag when I feed my kids Hamburger Helper so I feel the need to church it up a bit. This particular dish consists of Three Cheese HH and is topped with Frank’s Hot Sauce, jalapenos and, um, crushed up Doritos.
What truly blew my mind about this creation is that my freaky ass kids LOVED it. “This is the best meal you’ve ever cooked, Mom!” they proclaimed. Friggin’ outrageous. I have spent countless hours in that kitchen attempting to cook them dinners that most would consider to be like fine dining (*snort*) and they always have some sort of complaint. So, I prepare them something that looks like straight up dog shit and is almost too spicy for them to consume and they Five Star that motherfucker.
I swear to God, I do not understand my kids. I love them… but I do not understand them. I’m not even going to try to pretend to. What I do know is that, tonight, when I cook them steak and mashed potatoes and sweet peas they will probably bitch to no end until I put all of their food in the blender and grind it into a paste, top it with gravy and ketchup and crumbled up Fritos and serve it up. I’m sure the reviews will be positive.
I was so not like this as a kid. I held my mother to some very high standards. Her cooking better have been some restaraunt quality shit. I remember when she began serving cheesy Rice-a-Roni and I was appalled. How dare she raise four children and work a full time job and come home and try to feed me this garbage? Oh, no. That was completely unacceptable.
My children are weird. Matthew will only eat food that is white: milk, bread, plain noodles, eggs… I consistantly remind him that his lack of vegetables will cause him to develop scurvy but my threats do nothing. Owen is a full blown vegetarian… the polar opposite of Matt. Owen would be happy to eat salad for every meal of every day. Olivia will eat anything so long as it isn’t overcooked in anyway. If I accidentally burn the bottom of something she refuses to eat it. Emi is a guppy and will eat until she explodes. Doesn’t matter if it’s off the floor, out of the trash, found next to a dumpster, on the toilet seat of a public bathroom or if it is actual food. She will eat it.
I like my food to be un-contaminated and looking very pretty. Like it’s chef. (which is me, retards) I prefer it to never have seen the cardboard inside of a box (unlike me) and I like it to have at least three ingredients. Then, I like to disguise any and all flavors produced by the three+ ingredients by smothering the entire lot of it with hot sauce.
Simple. Easy. Edible. (also like me).
I am so sick of my kids’s high expectations with ther food. Although I must admit… that Hamburger Helper shit was off the hook…. I fear that my children will try to feed it to their children and their children’s children causing it to be some kind of recipe passed down for generations and I will be shamed and humiliated for generations to come when, one day, someone informs one of them that Hamburger Helper is NOT gourmet.
OMG. I’m never making that shit again.