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Stuff Your Own Tortillas (photo by Andy Mills) |
When I was growing up in Western Pennsylvania, I had
almost no say in what the family ate for dinner. My mother cooked it and served it, and my
father, brother and I choked it down. On
Monday nights, if Dad was out at his Kiwanis dinner meeting, my brother Steve and
I begged for Chef Boyardee Spaghetti. It
came in a can, and the noodles were as soft as pudding.
I’m sure my mother obliged us because all she had to do
was get out the can opener, dump the spaghetti into a pot and turn on the
gas. We lapped it up and begged for
more. It was the best-tasting dinner we
were likely to have in any given week.
Flash forward to Sunday dinner...