|She put up with a lot.|
Listen up: All good mothers make mistakes so that their children will grow up to be even better parents than they were.
|Pro tip: Try to avoid driving your kids|
into therapy. Other than that, it's OK
not to be perfect.
Tonight's case in point: Texas hash.
I've already devoted an entire post to Polish chop suey. This is a concoction of kluski noodles, Polish sausage, cream of mushroom soup, and demon bile that my mom periodically set upon the dinner table when I was growing up. It had the advantage of being cheap to make for a family and...just kidding, it had no other advantages, apart from enabling me to be a skinny kid until puberty introduced me to the concept of binge eating.
|Behold, the genesis of all my eating disorders.|
There was also Texas hash.
|Not - I repeat, not - hashish.|
It was a casserole, of course. It was made from inexpensive ingredients, yes. It fed all five of us, probably with leftovers, check.
It was fricking vile.
As I recall, it was made with ground beef, rice, big goddamn slices of onion, and like tomatoes or tomato paste or some shit.
|And served in this. Exactly this.|
I have never had to feed a family of five on a single income during a decade of high inflation. So I am not judging my wonderful mother for making Texas hash, which had the advantages of being cheap, filling, and easily re-heatable.
But I will let ISIL take over America before I voluntarily eat that shit again.
Recipe here if you're a freaking sadomasochist.
I love my mom. I hate Texas hash.