Eden M. Kennedy has acted impulsively in ways she now regrets.

Dinner goes like this

Dinner goes like this: I go to the grocery store and buy two adult portions of beef/pork/chicken/fish, two vegetables of different colors, e.g., a green and a yellow, or a brown and an orange, plus salad and an appropriate wine (although "appropriate" is a tough call ever since Calvin Trillin questioned whether anyone can really tell the difference between a white and a red while blindfolded.) Then Jack comes home and makes something fabulous out of my not-always-carefully-selected raw ingredients. (You try shopping with a one-year-old who keeps throwing everything out of the cart.) If the dish is successful it gets a name for future reference. It's our own little version of Iron Chef.

The other night I provided him with two chicken breasts and two small squashes (one green, one yellow). He marinated and grilled the chicken; then he sliced, breaded, cheesed, and baked the squash in a round pan, cut it into quarters, and arranged it on two plates, each with a chicken breast in the center and two flaps of baked, breaded-brown sliced squash spreading out on either side, with two sprigs of rosemary sticking out of the top.

This dish is now called Chicken Mothra. Ask for it by name.

Another Concha update

I know a guy

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