Stirring the Pot: Guiltless and Often Tastier Shortcuts

Macaroni-and-cheese night was always a huge hit when my kids were growing up. I put up a big pot of water to boil for the pasta. Into a separate saucepan went butter and flour — let the roux begin! I mashed out the lumps and waited for the nutty golden-brown color that signaled the roux was ready, then poured in milk. Gently and vigilantly I stirred. The alchemy of butter, flour, and milk created a silky, thick blanket that would eventually coat the pasta. And as if this weren’t already an embarrassment of riches, in went an abundance of cheddar, and, finally, that surprising — but essential — dash of freshly grated nutmeg. The pasta got drained, sauce was stirred in, and every noodle was coated. Dinner was ready. No need for a breadcrumb topping or baking — that just dries things out anyway. Happy children, or so I thought …

One fateful day, short on time and racing through the supermarket, not knowing what possessed me, I eyed a block of Velveeta and threw it in my cart. I got home, boiled and drained the pasta, and melted that impossibly orange block with some milk. Everything got mixed together and dinner was served. And wouldn’t you know it? A unanimous cry went up: “Mom, this is the best macaroni and cheese you’ve ever made!”

Admittedly, not my finest hour. This detour from Mother of the Year was repeated more times than I am proud to remember. In my defense, though, I come by this honestly. How well I remember when my mother stapled the unraveling hem of my favorite kilt skirt in second grade. A needle and thread? Why bother? Maybe those staples did poke into the backs of my thighs, but they did the trick and in record time!

So, I don’t feel too bad when I tire of a book and just skim for the good parts and the last paragraph. Or better yet, when I have my daughter Eve condense and summarize books one and two of Outlander in advance of the television series. We make delightful conversation, and I am spared slogging through 2,000 pages of highland history. 

I confess to not moving the picture frames when I dust, to literally sweeping crumbs under the rug, and to reaching for a bag of frozen chopped onions in lieu of the tedium of cutting a fresh one by hand. I have even figured out how to justify driving my car the two miles into town rather than ride my bike when it’s a beautiful day.

There are some shortcuts, however, that don’t require an apology. For years, my beef stews were always hit or miss. The meat wasn’t tender, the sauce was too thin, there were too many vegetables (or too few), or the flavor was bland. Until — drum roll — my eureka moment: A jar of salsa in my cupboard winked at me. Of course! Salsa has all sorts of ingredients that a stew needs — tomatoes, garlic, onions, peppers, spices — and they’re already all chopped up and ready. So, I browned stew beef, added the salsa, poured in a few bottles of beer for flavor and tenderizing, and simmered everything for a few hours on the stove. Best beef stew I ever made!