I was not raised by a skilled cook. My mother’s idea of pasta was to pour ketchup over overcooked noodles. For a green vegetable, she would open a can of string beans.
I, on the other hand, am obsessed with food. I think about it all the time. When I’m trying to fall asleep, I calm myself by planning the next day’s meals. If I’m going out to dinner, I increase my enjoyment by going online and studying every item on the menu before we even get there.
When I watch Chopped, I stand up and scream when a chef accidentally burns something, just like a football fan stands up and screams at a foul. I can relay all the details of every great meal I’ve ever had, especially the ones in foreign countries. When people ask me what I want for my birthday, my answer is always the same: a dinner invitation.
I love everything about the culinary arts except one thing: Like my mother before me, I hate to cook. Remember that show, 30-Minute Meals? Who has 30 minutes? I would pay extra for a house without a kitchen.
I don’t want to slice, I don’t want to dice, and I don’t want to spice. I have more important things to do, like trying to figure out the answers to The New York Times’ Connection game. Also, so many recipes demand ingredients that I don’t even know where to purchase. I just read one for a vegetable soup that required rutabaga, parsnips, Swiss chard, Italian kale, and — wait for it — Parmigiano Reggiano rind! Seriously?
I am deeply grateful for all those ready-made foods like Costco’s roast chicken, Trader Joe’s frozen lasagna, and Ralph’s sushi bowls. And my favorite way to end the day is to sip an Aperol Spritz in an outdoor café while waiting for my lobster tacos.
We can’t afford to eat out or get take-out every night, so how do I get food on the table? For starters, I’m lucky enough to have a husband. When I announced a few years ago that I was retiring from kitchen duties, Benni bravely stepped up to the (dinner) plate. I plan the menus and do the shopping. Benni is not a talented chef, but he can throw together a simple meal of grilled pork tenderloin, baked potato and a mixed green salad. And he even does the cleanup afterwards — sort of.
Since we need to keep things quick and easy, we have developed a repertoire of few-ingredient-minimum-fuss dishes that always satisfy. Here’s our greatest, most spectacular, most useful solution: a jar of salsa.
Salsa is a magical ingredient that makes everything better. It contains the basic essentials of a zillion dishes: tomatoes, garlic, onion, chili, lime and (in some brands) cilantro. A jar of it relieves you of the drudgery of shopping, peeling, chopping and washing up. PERFECT!
You want some guacamole? Just mash an avocado with some salsa.
You want meatloaf? Just mix a pound of ground turkey with a jar of salsa.
You want a spicy appetizer? Toss some ready-cooked shrimp with some salsa.
You want some gazpacho? Just blend yesterday’s leftover salad with some salsa.