Admittedly, a quick survey of the scene communicates some slothfulness: potato chip crumbs on your shirt, an empty takeout container, a dirty cup (Diet Coke when you started at 9:00 p.m.), a red-stained glass (wine now that it is 1:23 a.m.), a cell phone you called your children on to tell them to go to bed, wadded up tissues from Rory’s graduation speech in Stars Hollow. Fine, it isn’t our best look. We can’t always be awesome.
But the occasional guilt-free Netflix binge is delightful. Sydney and I watched four seasons of Downton Abbey in two days over Christmas break one year. We snuggled under a quilt and made tea for twelve hours a day. Brandon and I ripped through Friday Night Lights, Parenthood, Mad Men, and Arrested Development. He and the boys knocked off Lost in two weeks one summer (not sure they showered), and I was the lone soldier forging through Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, Gilmore Girls, Broadchurch, and 30 Rock.
The upside: we don’t watch any shows in real time, so our TV is off all day. Downside: when Brandon and I binge watch a new series, our house looks like an episode of Hoarders, and it’s like we’re raising creepy Children of the Corn with unwashed hair and haunted eyes of neglect: Will there be anything for dinner tonight, Mother and Father? Or shall we eat the rats in the barn?
Well, God bless. Everyone is entitled to a Netflix binge now and again. No one will die from it, and if our kids can’t pour themselves cereal for dinner for three straight nights, they need to get some home training. Just in case you are the reasonable sort, I thought I’d include a recipe you can make for dinner, set on the kitchen counter, and let your people consume for a couple of days. This is great on day one and even better on day two . . . right around the time you move into season three and cannot be bothered with getting up for the bathroom, much less someone’s hunger.
PANANG CHICKEN CURRY
I make this on nights I have only twenty minutes for prep, because I am a very busy person. Breaking Bad will not watch itself. This is as easy as “spaghetti night” and infinitely yummier. Every one of my kids loves it. Brandon is the lone holdout on curry, which is a discernment problem he needs to work out. This recipe makes enough for a big family like mine plus leftovers. Feel free to cut it down if you hate delicious food in your fridge.
2 to 3 tablespoons olive oil
Whatever veggies you have, sliced thin (my faves in this recipe: snap peas or green beans, red or green bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, but truly, whatever)
Salt to taste
A few shakes of curry powder, if you have it
2 to 4 tablespoons Panang curry paste* (to taste: less = less spicy, more = muy caliente. I have a bunch of Ethiopians and Texans in my house, so we like to burn.)
1 to 2 teaspoons Kaffir lime powder*
1 tablespoon fish sauce*
3 (13-to 14-ounce) cans coconut milk
2 cups veggie or chicken stock
1 pound chicken breasts, sliced super-duper thin (or shrimp or beef or tofu or no meat)
1 tablespoon cornstarch for a thicker curry
3 tablespoons water
Rice cooked to package directions, including serving size for your family (not only do I make extra for leftovers, but I put another can of coconut milk in my rice liquid, because I like to live dangerously. I recently pulled out a rice cooker I’ve had for five years and never used. So basically my life is changed).
Fresh basil, if you have it
Heat the olive oil in a stock pot over medium-high heat. When the oil is shimmering, add the veggies, sprinkle them with salt, and stir for 2 to 3 minutes. I add a few shakes of curry powder, too, because my mantra on spice is “more is more.” Add the curry paste and lime powder. Stir into the oil and veggies until incorporated and no longer pasty. Add the fish sauce, coconut milk, and stock. Whisk. Add the sliced raw chicken. (I like the chicken poached in the curry instead of cooked before. Tough chicken makes me want to become a vegetarian. Okay, no it doesn’t. But if you are a Nervous Nelly about this, cook your chicken while you stir fry your veggies at the beginning. It’s a free country.)
Simmer the curry for around 15 minutes. I usually make a little slurry of cornstarch whisked into cold water and add it to thicken up the curry a bit.
Into a bowl: rice, curry, chopped basil.
CHEF’S SERVING NOTES:
Go heavy on the liquid part of the curry when you dish it out, because this is the stuff dreams are made of. I am so serious.
Make extra, because your family can eat this for days while you knock off the fifth season of Parenthood.
*You can order the Panang curry paste, Kaffir lime powder, and fish sauce on Amazon. They will come straight to your doorstep. You’re welcome.
We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.1
— FROM ODE BY ARTHUR O’SHAUGHNESSY,
QUOTED BY WILLY WONKA
CHAPTER 10
MAKERS AND DREAMERS
Here’s the thing: after you have had children in elementary school since 2003, you struggle to stay the course by the fifth kid. (Side note: For those of you mamas who haven’t yet proceeded past elementary with your kids, here is some truth. Getting triplets applied, scholarshipped, admitted, and graduated from Harvard, Yale, and Princeton is less work than K–5. Elementary school is the mother’s gauntlet; if you can survive it, you can survive anything. Middle school and high school are approximately eleventy billion times easier. For you. I don’t even know what classes my big kids are in. I barely know what grades they are in.)
Anyway, my point is, my last child is finishing elementary school, and I’m not as “attentive” as I once was. Consequently, I often find out what she is learning when I clean out her backpack once every three weeks. Maybe this is because I just skim the newsletters; maybe it’s because I rarely look in The Folder. These things are hard to discern.
Upon a belated cleanout recently, I discovered an extensive Dream Poster complete with printed photos (where did she get those?), captions, and a detailed account of her projected adult life. Unable to narrow her career options to one (this is quintessential Remy), she predicted her professional titles would include: Pastor, Writer, Singer, Dancer, and Artist. When I asked her about her wide array of dreams, she said, “I just want to make beautiful things.”
I couldn’t help it. I grinned. I deeply, intrinsically understand this. I, too, just want to make beautiful things. Don’t you? Don’t we want our lives to be lovely and creative and productive and meaningful? Don’t we want to offer exquisite, sacred things to the world? This draw toward creation is important, worthy of our time and attention and nurture. We have these magnificent minds and hands and ideas and visions, and they beg us to pay attention, give them permission, give them life.