Friday Night Tacos

Sometimes people ask me when I knew I loved cooking. I never know how to answer them. Growing up the oldest of five kids in a below-poverty household, I learned the necessity of cooking cheaply for a big group of people before I entered high school.

We ate oatmeal for dinner a lot.

But also, spaghetti with ground beef, creamed tuna on toast (Dad was the only one allowed to call it SOS, or shit on a shingle - cuz he had been in the army), chicken gizzards, beef or pork liver and onions (oh I loved this dish with ketchup), and the family's all time favorite - taco night!

We had tacos every Friday night and it was quite a production. We'd cook hamburger with salt and pepper in the 16 inch cast iron skillet. I'd chop tomatoes and onions. My sister would grate cheddar cheese and chop lettuce. Mom would deftly use kitchen tongs to run corn tortillas through a fry pan of hot oil and Dad would try not to burn his fingers as he filled each now soft shell with the hamburger. Then we'd sit down to a feast. Our taco nights were famous. Everyone wanted to come over for them. One time Dad and I had a contest of how many tacos we could eat. I beat him by one. I ate 13.

Imagine....13.