D’oh!Mestic

I’m moving shifts next weekend — for the first time in my dozen years of working full-time, I will work the standard 9 to 6 day. Granted, it’s not quite market hours and it’s not quite material from a Dolly Parton song, but, y’know, what more can you ask for in the early 21st century American workforce?

(Don’t answer that.)

Nine to six. This last week of 11 to 8 has been draaaaaaaaaaaagging, to the point that I’ve started tinkering with a menu for dinner next week. I can’t tell you what we’re having for supper tomorrow, but next Friday? Ome. Lets.

I’m looking forward to earlier evenings, earlier meals, dinner at the dinner table. Oh, hell, it’s all fantasy at this point, setting the old farm table with the good china my grandmother gave me as wedding present, candles in Nambé candlesticks, time for a glass of wine, long meals that don’t begin life in the microwave. I’ve got money on my happy balloon of a fantasy being burst within the first fifteen minutes of dinner preparation on Monday. We’ll eat in front of the TV, I’ll rely on convenience over taste and The Capt’n will probably overrule every other dinner suggestion I come up with.

That said, here’s the menu plan I sketched out for the coming week:

Monday
Fried Chicken — Already nixed by the Capt’n for being meat-based. I’ve got a suggestion of Eggplant Parmesan in, which is under consideration.

Tuesday
Vegetarian-ish fajitas — a little skirt steak might be given to the carnivore, but most likely it’ll be the mix of peppers and onions. Maybe some mushrooms.

Wednesday
Bliss bowls — a concoction we cobbled together about a year ago involving ground turkey, red enchilada sauce, refried beans and cheese, OHEMGEECHEEZE!

Thursday
Macfu -n- cheese (extra firm tofu sliced up, sauteed in butter and covered in cheese sauce) — already overridden by the Capt’n, who felt that my first experiment in this caused him to feel bad for most of the following day. I suffered no ill effects, but I’ve been told I have a lead-lined stomach. Unless there’s lobster involved.

Friday
The aforementioned omelets.

The further this goes, the harder it’ll be to come up with interesting dishes that we can both eat — it’s so stupid that one of us is forced to stick to proteins while the other one has reluctantly turned into a vegetarian. Stupid, possibly ironic and a challenge.

I like a challenge. Sometimes.