Saturday night was Taco Night this week.
When we were married, my husband promised to love, cherish and take out to dinner every weekend night for as long as we both shall live. Or something like that. Anyway, after about 14 years, he got tired of that routine, with (then) 7 kids to drag along. So, for a couple of years, I refused to cook, instead ordering delivery pizza. Hey, I didn't care; I don't even like the stuff. Then I settled upon a course of easy to cook meals for Friday and Saturday nights, consisting of whatever I could make with minimal effort, at whatever time I deemed fit (which has included midnight, after finishing a wallpaper project, for example). Sometimes it's pasta with meat sauce or white clam sauce, sometimes it's beef stew, soup and grinders, quiche or tacos.
There's no real recipe here, just a picture of my ingredients, which included 5 pounds of seasoned ground beef, 2 pounds of jack cheese, lettuce, tomato, diced onion, and salsa, plus, of course, flour tortillas, laid out on my passthrough for the family (and, this week, a guest who happened through). The passthrough is one of my greatest creations ever. It puts the food out for buffet style self-service without anyone tromping trhrough the kitchen, possibly endangering themselves or me; the location right next to the stove and 6 feet from the sink makes service and cleanup relatively easy. And what you can't see is Thor lying on the floor in front of the right edge of this counter, patiently waiting fot the day someone hands him his own plate. Ah, the power of belief in his humans!