About the Quinoa

It's about the quinoa.

On the infrequent occasion that I go to the salad bar at Whole Paycheck Whole Foods, I get a portion of a delicious grainy cold salady kind of thing that's labeled "quinoa." It tastes good. I know of quinoa as something that gluten-free people espouse, and after eating it at WF, I thought I might make it at home. So I bought a small bag and a few months ago made something-or-another (I can't remember what it was, so it couldn't have been spectacular). The other day I came across the half-full (or half-empty) bag of quinoa and decided to use it for dinner.

My Pinterest board listed a couple of options and I went with a version of quinoa with mushrooms and roasted garlic. Anything with mushrooms and roasted garlic would have to be terrific, right?

Not so. I taste-tested it before serving and upped the amperage on the parmesan cheese. Added some salt and parsley, too. Himself peered at it and said, "What's this? I think it's alive." I looked at it again; the whitish collar-things around the grains had, in some cases, separated from the grains. It didn't take a lot of imagination to perceive them as wiggling about.

It was not a huge success. I  served it with some grilled chicken and a nice fresh green vegetable. I wanted to like it. I really did. Each of us ate it without a lot of further comment.  I'd like to say that was that, but, you see, the recipe had a massive yield. A mother load of quinoa with mushrooms and roasted garlic.

A day or so later, the quinoa, weighing heavily on my mind in my fridge, came to the surface in conversation. We agreed that it was neither of our particular cup of tea, not to confuse things metaphorically. Yet it wasn't horrible, and it would be wasteful to throw it out. I started thinking of ways to improve it. There were still a couple of pieces of the grilled chicken. I thought out loud, "Well, I could throw in a whole lot more grated cheese. And perhaps some onion. And I could cut up the chicken and mix that in . . . .  " and at this point he cut me off, crying out, "Don't sacrifice the chicken!" And I started to laugh because all at once I was thinking of Lynne and how if she were here she'd jump up and start working on her next quilt, "Don't Sacrifice the Chicken!"

More better I should sacrifice the quinoa.