by Sarah Albrecht
Last week as the taco meat sizzled an odd scent wafted from the frying pan. Cumin? No. Chili powder? No. Onion powder? Sniff, sniff....No. It was a big pan of meat, destined, I hoped, to become leftovers. But what was that smell?
I didn't identify the mystery scent until the pan sat on the kitchen bar between tortillas and beans, ready to serve up buffet style. Sniff, sniff...Ugh! Cinnamon.
Yes, I put cinnamon in the taco meat. My husband was a great sport and plopped a large spoonful into his tortilla. When he took a bite he even declared nothing tasted off. My oldest son, always pragmatic, took a large helping, noting, "If you smother it in salsa, you can't taste it." None of the other kids would touch the meat.
So much for the grand pan destined for leftovers.
I'm not really sure what point I'm moving towards. Let's just say that when a thank you note to one of my daughter's party guests arrived in our mailbox, addressed to us, or when I added baking powder to the flour cannister instead of the brownie batter, I wasn't too surprised.
Maybe it's time to