Lenten Dilemma

When I was a kid, I had no concept of Lent.  My parents didn't go to church, and if Lent was ever mentioned in the Presbyterian Sunday school classes we kids attended, I don't remember it.  Easter was king, marked by colossal chocolate bunnies, frilly new dresses, patent leather Mary Janes, and occasionally, shiny purses to match.  Lent, well, wasn't that the stuff Mom was always insisting I scoop out of the dryer trap?  ("Yes, after every load!")

Now, I actually look forward to the calming and contemplative season of Lent, which is the 40 day period before Easter.  I appreciate the deliberateness and thoughtfulness during this period.  After the indulgences of Christmas, I'm soothed by the simpler church services of Lent.

Parts of it, though, still confuse me.  Take today's Ash Wednesday service.  I'm always grateful to attend this mid-day service at my Episcopal church.  I'm touched, and somewhat honored, when the priest administers ashes in the shape of the cross, on our foreheads, as a sign of repentance.  As I exit the silent church, though, my dilemma begins.  To keep the gray smudge on my forehead or to avail myself of the Handi-Wipes safely stashed in the car?

A reverent Christian, I think, would keep the mark, right?  Or does that come across as boasting?  ("See, I'm a good Christian, I went to church today and it's not even Sunday!)  Not wiping off the mark also invites the following remark -- at a minimum, 347 times --  "Hey, you've got something on your forehead."  And I can assure you, at some point, a really good friend will try to wipe it off for you.  What then?  "Hey, keep your fingers off my ashes!"?  What's the protocol here?

And what about the tradition of "giving up" something during Lent?  If I give up chocolate, does that sufficiently represent self-denial?  Or is it actually self-serving, because it might help me lose weight?  A few years ago, I gave up caffeine, resulting in the most miserable Lent my family's ever experienced, culminating in me dragging them all to the sunrise service Easter morning, solely so I could sooner race to my neighborhood Starbucks for the venti non-fat, two pump, sugarfree vanilla latte I'd been craving.  Which (and this is a true story), I then promptly upturned in the car, requiring hours of cleaning on Easter Sunday.  Yep, message received.

This year, my teenaged son is giving up candy, which I'm embarrassed to admit is a significant denial for him.  To prepare, he took a Sour Patch Kid sugar plunge last night that is surely affecting his schoolwork today.  My job today is to purge his room, removing all evidence of Halloweens, Christmas stockings and Valentines past.  As part of the cleansing, incense may be necessary.  And an exorcist.

After much deliberation, my daughter is "giving up" arguing with me.  Now there's a challenge.  This, from the same girl who, last week, declared me unfair and locked herself in her room for 30 minutes because (wait for it) I asked her to take her (freshly washed, dried and folded) clothes to her room.  Never mind that the kids have been responsible for putting away their clean clothes ever since they could successfully negotiate the stairs.  What was I thinking?

And me?  I'm giving up wine, which prompted the following response from my beloved daughter, "Are you giving up all drinking?"  My son gallantly leaped to my defense, "Well, she doesn't even drink beer!  (uncomfortable pause)  Um, do you, Mom?"  Beloved daughter, though, was relentless, "She orders those fancy drinks at Zen!"

Busted.  I do love those ginger martinis.

And so, the solemn Lenten season begins -- sugar-free, argument-free, alcohol-free.  Pray for all of us.

What's For Dinner? Part One, With Shrimp Bog.

"What's for dinner?"

The question itself doesn't unnerve me. I enjoy cooking, I plan ahead, and I'm confident that, in a pinch, I can pull together a passable, and usually tasty, meal in less than 20 minutes. No, the question doesn't bother me, because I have a response. It's the response to the response that I dread.

It's gotten to the point that I've told my children not to raise "the question" -- not to even think about raising it -- unless they are prepared to reply either 1) "That sounds good," or 2) "Yum," or 3) something of that ilk. To no avail. To some degree, they get it, but not entirely. Since they know I'll promptly downshift into "lecture-mode" should they respond the way some classmates do (one routinely tells his mom, "That's disgusting"), my kids now choose not to respond at all. Which. Drives. Me. Insane.

Them: What's for dinner? Me: Grilled salmon with asparagus. Them: (anybody else hear crickets chirping?)

"That's rude!" I shriek. "Why ask the question if you don't want the answer?" Whereupon they blandly regard me as if we've not yet been introduced. As if the dog is the one who asked the ridiculous question. As if they've never heard my banshee-like response before. Or more likely, as if they've heard it a few thousand times and are now inured to it.

It's exhausting. But kids can surprise you. A few evenings ago, my normally reserved daughter dared to pose "the question." (Do they never learn?) I braced myself. I considered giving her a simple, but silent, smile. Knowing, but not telling. Kind of like the Mona Lisa. After all, I didn't have to respond. I'm an adult. But my ego got the better of me. I knew the answer and had to blurt it out -- "Shrimp bog!"

Perhaps the planets were in line. Maybe she'd been able to sit with the "right" friend at lunch. Maybe that cute boy on the bus had smiled at her. I truly don't know the reason she coolly responded, "I was hoping you'd say that."

OK. Add that to the list of acceptable responses. In fact, make "I was hoping you'd say that" number one.

Shrimp Bog

6-8 slices of bacon, diced, fried crisp, grease reserved

1 clove garlic (minced)

1/2 Vidalia onion, chopped (optional, because it's "gross")

1/2 red bell pepper, chopped (optional, because it's "disgusting")

1 cup raw rice

2 cups chicken broth

generous splash of Worcestershire

generous splash of lemon juice

1/2 of one (14 oz) can of diced tomatoes

sprinkle of red pepper flakes

pinch of nutmeg

salt & pepper

1 pound raw shrimp, peeled and deveined

In a large, lidded skillet, saute garlic (and onions and bell pepper, if you choose) in reserved bacon grease. When tender, stir in rice and saute for a few minutes. Stir in broth, worcestershire, lemon juice, diced tomatoes and seasonings. Cook on low, with lid on, for 10-12 minutes (rice will not be done). Put shrimp on top, return lid, and continue cooking for 5 minutes, or until shrimp is done. When done, fluff rice and serve mounded in bowls, with reserved bacon sprinkled on top.

Comfort Food (Sausage Pasta)

Although I'd been a copywriter for years, as recently as one year ago I could not have written a blog. Not that I didn't want to. I daydreamed, even fantasized, about it. My husband of 22+ years had moved out. Our children felt eviscerated and humiliated, our family was stunned, and our friends didn't know which way to turn. I had to hire a lawyer and got to hire a therapist.

I wanted to write -- even felt it would be cathartic -- but my thoughts were tainted. The topics that came to mind were either piteous or vitriolic or both. My fingertips on a keyboard would have been venomous. Satisfying in one way, perhaps, but not my style.

What I could do, of course, was cook. And luckily for me, the kids wanted me to cook. Despite earlier claims, they couldn't live by Chick Fil A alone (at least not more than once a day). Not surprisingly, they wanted comfort food.

"Comfort food" varies from person to person and family to family, of course. Neither meatloaf nor mac 'n' cheese nor lasagna makes the top 10, or even top 25, cut for my son or daughter. Nope. They want "sausage pasta." Although not imaginatively named, it's the one dish they regularly request. It's the one that they'll always choose -- knocking the beloved Chick Fil A out of the ring. Even when they have friends for sleepovers, where pepperoni pizza is de rigueur and "real" food disdained, "sausage pasta" is allowed. It transcends teen and pre-teen dining requirements.

My son recently had a school assignment requiring him to write about a food that evokes powerful memories for him. I was honored that he wrote about my "sausage pasta," which I'll serve again tonight. Here's the recipe he included in his essay:

Sausage Pasta

3 links sweet Italian sausage, grilled and sliced

3/4 pounds penne pasta

3 cups broccoli flowerettes

1 lemon, zested

1 can chicken broth

1/2 cup cream

oregano

red pepper flakes

sea salt and pepper

Cook penne pasta according to package directions. About one minute before pasta is done, add broccoli. Cook additional minute, then drain well and return to pot. Gently stir in cream and lemon zest. Stir in sliced sausage and broth as needed. Season to taste with oregano, red pepper flakes, salt, pepper and juice from zested lemon. Eat. Enjoy.