It was 113 degrees in Los Angeles yesterday, the hottest it’s been..ever! Needless to say, I wasn’t about to cook. I dragged my kids to a pizza place with air conditioning. One son sat mesmerized watching a cartoon on the television mounted above the booths while the other played games on my iPhone.
I grew up in excessive heat with no air conditioning and do you know how many times we went out to eat because it was too hot to cook? zero. Absolutely never.
My mom would be in the kitchen frying up tacos or sautéing calabacitas in the dead of summer. We had a swamp cooler growing up in Tucson, but when it was in the 100s and God forbid there was a little moisture in the air, it seemed to do very little.
Sitting there in the restaurant with my kids, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Not so much for being there last night, but for going out to dinner the night before. My mom had 4 kids and the first 3 were 18-months apart. I only have 2 kids, and we’re blessed with air conditioning and the convenience of Trader Joe’s. I cook for them, but not nearly enough.
My boys wanted to go for ice cream after dinner, but I couldn’t bring myself to take them to another restaurant. Instead I had them help me make coconut ice cream in the ice cream maker that I had used about 5 times since I got it as a wedding gift. They helped me pour in the coconut milk, cream, vanilla and sugar.
While it was churning, my older son finished his homework and the younger one played in the kitchen. I could have easily done the same thing to make a healthy dinner at home.
Today it’s only expected to be in the 90s. I’ll definitely cook tonight.