My husband and I are bantering here. We’re having issues on what is and is not an entree. A few points of contention: soup and salad. He says a bowl of soup is not filling enough to be an entree, and salad should not be bothered with because it is pointless and both would fall under the side dish category. I however, disagree and say both are very filling as an entree. Next disagreement was over mushroom parmesan. When he claimed that mushroom parmesan was an entree, I decided I had enough of his foolishness and set out to prove him wrong. He decided to do some research as well, by eating my proof (all of my proof), making the 4 servings filling enough to be an entree.

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This is one of those recipes that I have had bookmarked, and, well forgot about it… on purpose. I passed it over because I was scared of chicken after having a run-in with a butcher experience that left my newly married, meat virgin status shaky and tormented, having recurring nightmares of exposed rib cages and raw meat; and then, well, why would you want boring old chicken when there were pulled pork sandwiches and tender pot roasts to be had?

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Notice I did not state any dieting/losing weight/healthy eating resolutions, though obviously I should have? No, I enjoy being fat, err, pudgy, err, slightly plump in certain areas, err, having enough for someone to hold onto. But for those of you who might feel the need for a detox after heavy doses of sugar here is what you need: crispy tofu with shitakes and chorizo.

Light, simple, and quick (which seems to be the only thing I like to cook these days) this is indeed how you want to start your year of resolutions. Or if you’re like me, then you make it only to force yourself to get over traumatic childhood experiences. Yes, very traumatic, as in I cried so much I got dehydrated traumatic; as in I would rather lock myself in a closet for three days traumatic; as in I’d rather not get a spoonful of dessert as reward for doing this traumatic thing, traumatic.

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I am not one who normally gives reviews on restaurants or talks about the latest food faux pas and I certainly never gab about the latest additions to my family because, well, that would be all I ever talk about and I don’t want to be a bore. Like most women who collect dishes, shoes, and hair supplies — which I am most certainly guilty of  — I also have a little habit of picking up a cookbook about once a day — well, if I were allowed it would be that often, but my bookshelves are too jam packed with other shiny backed books I can hardly justify my junkie habit — or was it my wallet?

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I was struck by an article in The Washington Post from a few years back about a Cuban-American family making dulce de leche in a pressure cooker; well not so much the story of the can of condensed milk being forgotten, causing the can and the cooker to blow up over the kitchen, but the risotto recipe attached. It really had nothing to do with the story at all except the method in which it was cooked, being of course pressure cooked. Unfortunately, I have very limited cabinet space and the thought of taking up precious space with a pressure cooker when my pantry consists of a small waist high book shelf and a chest of drawers to hold all my staples and spices seems unjustifiable. But I digress.

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