I had that Norman Rockwell image of the perfect American family with 2.5 kids (what the heck is that anyway? Have you ever laid eyes on half a kid?) happily dining on a perfectly balanced meal represented by all four food groups with the husband and wife smiling happily down on their beautifully manicured, well-behaved children.
So I asked the-man-who-does-it-all to stop at the store and purchase vegetables, meat, milk, bread and salad fixings for our perfect Monday night dinner. And he did.
Then fate intervened. Earlier in the day the neighbors dropped off a belated birthday gift (totally unnecessary) that I adore (bonus). A wine aerator that does the job with each glass poured. So much fun, that we had to crack open another bottle to keep 'practicing' with it. My Norman Rockwell dream dashed by 13.8% alcohol by volume deliciousness.
The wine tasted too good,
and Seinfeld was too funny to go inside. Screw dinner at the table - let's eat on the patio.
So that's exactly what we did.
Minus the vegetables.
Minus the milk.
Minus the salad.
But not the bread. Man can't survive on meat alone now, can he?
Miller loved our change in plans. Here's what happens when you say, "Pork Juice?"
I think the dog is a bit spoiled.
And when it started to rain? Not an issue. Because the man-who-does-it-all installed this.
Now go make some Monday Night Magic of your own.