The Change

Among other topics we will not be entertaining today (such as the upcoming election, the discouraging European economy, and my fondness for chopping all my hair off as soon as the temps rise above 85) , we will also not be discussing my extended (humph) hiatus from the blogging world.  Said haitus may resume, without notification, at any time. 

With the disclaimers out of the way, I can now state that it is PESTO TIME in the Fish Tank.  This is glorious news for The Scientist.  It makes the whole house smell all clean (in an herby, slightly hippy-ish sort of way) and prompts me to come up with all sorts of creative uses for the oily, salty, herby goodness.  Tonight, it's flat bread.  Goodness, happiness and light abound.  Mostly. 

The Fishies used to dig stuff like this:  spicy noodles of all sorts, sushi, roasted red peppers, garlic and all sorts of other food items that aren't fried, breaded or include the word "nugget" or "-ito" in their name or description.  Somewhere between Huggies and homework they underwent The Change.  This appears to be a natural developmental stage that most children go through at some point.   The commencement point of The Change is directly proportional to said child's birth order.  In our limited study (of three test subjects), our research has shown that lower he/she is in birth order (and hence, the more nonesense he/she is exposed to from older siblings with peer pressured palate), the younger the child is when he/she undergoes The Change.  After The Change, my culinarily curious kids preferred chicken nuggets to cordon bleau.  Pizza to pad thai.  Grilled cheese to gumbo.  So, tonight may be an offense.  They love pesto as they believe it was originally intended to be eaten- on pasta with extra cheese, please.  And nothing too aged, if you don't mind. 

I'd say that if they turn their noses up at the flatbread offerings tonight, that you're invited to pinch hit.  But, let's be honest.  The Scientist and I might be hoping a tiny, little, bitty bit that we have to finish it up ourselves.  Don't expect a call.