Great Things Happen at The Lakehouse

During Memorial day weekend we went to Beaver's Bend to spend a weekend.  I took off of work on Sunday so we could actually be there three days instead of our usual one to two days--yes, we have actually driven down there to stay for less than 24 hours before because at the lakehouse  is where we find peace, time alone with our family, and the strength for what lies ahead. (I know that lakehouse is supposed to be two words, but around here it is just one. Lakehouse is short for "pappananalakehouse" in Ry speak.)  This weekend was like most others there--no make up, spotty reception, dirty kids, early morning fishing, big meals, fun snacks, hot tub time, cable TV (a huge treat for my kids), K cup coffee and tea, soft ice, climbing time, mosquitoes, poison ivy, and LOADS of fun.

One of the things we love to do at the lakehouse is cook big meals.  Actually, the Pankey in me likes to cook big meals everywhere I go.  Cooking (and eating) is a love language in my family.  When Ry was born and none of knew what to do or what the future looked like, my Dad sent us 20 cases of green beans.  I'm not kidding.  It was his way of taking care of me when he couldn't do anything else, and I completely understood.  I got it--my daddy loved me, he wanted to take care of me, and he remembered that we loved "fried green beans" and cooked four cans at a time.  If you are turning up your nose at the expression "fried green beans" then you don't know my Aunt Faye.  I remember that she would cook all the life, water and nutrients out of her beans and let them stick to the bottom of the skillet that was coated with bacon grease.  We used to say she burned the beans.  Now we say she caramelized them--it sounds so much more sophisticated, doesn't it?  Now we eat frozen, barely cooked green beans because they are more healthy and we don't have time to cook them all day, but when I do open a can of grean beans I think about my daddy and the tower of green beans, which reminds me of the time he cooked 300 pounds of meat for Thanksgiving.  No lie.  Go big or go home.

Bringing my family traditions into my own family, we cook.  We like to eat and we like to cook, especially at the lakehouse when we aren't rushing off to soccer practice or therapy or tutoring or show rehearsals or something at church.  This weekend we decided to try our hand at grilled pizza.  OH.  MY.  WORD.  We were onto something here.  Something very very good.  

For the kids it was your traditional pepperoni (can't do that anymore--there's nitrites in those little round red spicy discs) with cheese and mushrooms.  I chose to have prosciutto and caramelized onions on mine, and I really think I could eat that everyday for the rest of my life.  We had a great time--our pizza's were square, burned, and falling through the cracks on the grill, but they were delicious and we were all cooking together.  I was in my happiest of happy places.   As we settled down for our movie, Jessica declared "we should do this every Friday instead of Little Caesar's" and I knew in my heart that she was right.