Friday Night Dinner. A vague plan, then I’m out the door.

This morning my daughter asked me what I was going to make for Shabbat tonight. Since I was in the middle of serving her breakfast, I felt this was really a case of her jumping the gun, but it’s true, it’s the kind of thing I usually have sort of planned out by seven in the morning. “I was thinking chicken,” I said, “and, um, potatoes? Sliced up potatoes, roasted in the oven?” I know everyone likes it when I do potatoes, because I hardly ever cook them and it’s regarded as a Big Deal.
“MASHED potatoes,” she said.
“I’m not making mashed potatoes, it’s a pain in the ass,” I said. “MAYBE potatoes.”
But she didn’t ask, you’ll note, what method I would use to prepare the chicken. So she doesn’t know that I’ve got something kind of weird in mind. I am going to go buy some boneless breasts of chicken and then cook them very simply and serve in a vermouth and vanilla sauce.
I guess I better come up with a really good pot of mashed potatoes, ’cause this could be pretty bad.


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