Lima Beans

So, I have only 15 minutes to share with you an abbreviated account of my afternoon. I'll try to hit the highlights, and leave you with a sense of a mom's real life---unlike the glamorous one you usually see in the magazines, complete with tummy tuck and radiant skin.

That glow on my face? It's not any sort of radiance, it's the sheen of sheer tenacity that comes with trying to make lima beans a little bit dressier. Less frumpy and earthy, more fabulous and sophisticated. Ironically, the experience in itself is the equivalent of trying to put me in high heels and a dress with sequins, ha ha ha.

At 3:30, I'd busted out my favorite cookbook, Deborah Madison's "Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone". If anyone could make lima beans fantastic, this is the woman to do it. The recipe looks simple. In fact, almost every recipe I try looks simple, except for the one ingredient that I can't cook without: namely, a rambunctious 21 month old little boy.

Today, Boy was hungry about the time I started chopping up onions. Made up a plate of favorites for him--corn and cottage cheese-- and started chopping like a Cuisinart. In between that, running outside for rosemary, and several phone calls (because no one calls for days and now they all call now!), I was starting to feel like I was in whirling dervish mode. Whirling, dervishing, I minced rosemary, related a now-funny-but-not-funny-at-the-time story of my son playing in dogsh*t to a friend, which prompted my son to repeat the lovely word, and prepped the pasta pot with water.

Apparently the amount of water necessary for cooking pasta while changing diapers, playing waitress and social secretary to the dear Man of The House is far greater that what I'd started off with. I had to add water to finish the job.

Dinner, by the way, turned out great: lima beans cooked with onion, rosemary and parsley and shell pasta topped with Parmesan and a lovely salmon seasoned with dill and chili powder. (Really, they're a great combination.) Joe came home, whisked Boy out of the kitchen and promptly made martinis as soon as the counter was clear. I barely drank it, then ran down here to escape.

But my 15 Minutes of Lame are over. Time to head back to the Boy. Bottoms up!


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