We had a really weird dinner one night last week. I'm oddly proud of it.
I had a craving for hummus, so I picked up the chick peas and fresh pita bread on the way home from dropping the Peevies at school.
(I compared American chick pea brands in the canned vegetable aisle to the ethnic brands two aisles over. Who knew that Sultan brand, all the way from the Middle East, would be the cheapest -- two cents per ounce cheaper than Progresso. I saved 32 cents, which is not nothing.)
I made fresh hummus, which was a tiny bit too salty, and not quite lemony enough because I was too lazy to actually measure the ingredients. But it was still delicious, and with the warm pita-- well, let's just say I could have made that my whole dinner.
But no, I have a family to think of, so I rounded out the dinner menu with a fruit salad--and I use that term loosely because it consisted solely of strawberries and bananas. Strawberries are in season, cheap and plentiful at my local produce store, and I've been buying them twice a week at least.
(I'm thinking of buying extras and freezing them for future recipes, including smoothies. We love smoothies in this household, and it's a great way to get extra vitamins into fruit-resistant kids.)
So that was our dinner. Mr. Peevie and A. Peevie needed a bit more protein than what the hummus offered (hummus actually has about a gram of protein per tablespoon, which is a pleasant nutritional boon), so they shared some leftover sloppy joe. But the rest of us were happy with our fruit, pita, and hummus.
It all felt very Bohemian and vegetarian and obsequious and purple and clairvoyant.