A lifetime ago when our children were young and adamantly refused to eat anything as disgusting as liver for dinner, I tried an experiment. Using a table-top meat grinder, I minced the liver, then mixed it as one would in preparing meat patties, with salt and pepper, an egg and breadcrumbs, patting the mixture together into nice, smooth patties, which I then refrigerated to meld the ingredients and stiffen them.

At dinnertime I fried the patties, serving them with mashed potatoes and some vegetable that they would agree to eat -- I can't now recall what it was. I do recall their eating the liver patties with relish, not asking what they were comprised of, assuming it to be beef. Well, it was beef -- liver. I don't know why I let the devil get my tongue. I thought I could teach them a lesson by (a) asking did they like it?, then (b) revealing that they were eating liver.

The look of utter shock, absolute disgust that crossed three little faces. I'm not yet certain all these years later whether it was the fact they were 'tricked', rather than the fact that they had been betrayed to eat something that they were convinced was nasty, that elicited that response. A good way, in any event, to teach your children to distrust their mother. Not until they were adults would they ever eat liver again. 

Now, to the present. My husband doesn't appreciate a simple dish that I really enjoy and place well up on my comfort-food list; macaroni-and-cheese. I've tried making all kinds of additions, from onions to green peas, tuna or salmon, to have it appeal to him as a dinnertime casserole. No luck. Tried different types of pastas, even just broad or thin egg noodles, both of which he normally does like. Forget it.

Then I saw a recipe on the Internet for something called "Creamy Orzo". Well, I have orzo pasta in my pantry, and I thought I'd give it a try. I ran it past my husband first, telling him what the ingredients were; he paused when I cited mushrooms and spinach among them. I promised the mushrooms wouldn't be mushy, in fact I would do them separately so they would be dry and crisp, and served over the orzo, and he agreed.

I used two cloves of garlic, a cooking onion, chopped and fried them in olive oil, then added the uncooked orzo, stirring to coat it with the olive oil before adding two cups of warmed milk (which gives it the creamy texture) and a chicken bouillion cube, and simmered it until the orzo absorbed the liquid. In the meantime, I cooked another onion in olive oil with 2 cups of chopped mushrooms until they were dry and crisp. I grated a cup of really sharp old Cheddar, and washed two cups of mixed baby spinach, peppered the orzo mixture, added the cheese and spinach, stirred them in well, then plated the result, placing the mushrooms on top.

I really enjoyed the result. Plenty of flavour, good texture, everything just right. We had a small vegetable salad first, and my husband dutifully ate the orzo dish, well most of it. For which I'm grateful, but I won't be repeating this experiment any time soon... He's a good sport. He asked if I wanted his leftovers, and I did. He took his plate over to the compost pail, scraped half of it into the pail, then returned the rest to me ... to make certain I wouldn't over-eat and feel unwell. Well.

Well, today no hike through he ravine's forest trails. Several days ago, a young man we've got to know fairly well as a regular hiker told us that today's temperature high would be above freezing. Great, I groaned, it'll rain for sure. Nope, he said with the confidence of the young; no rain in the forecast. How nice, I responded.

So, today? Mild, sure enough and heavily overcast. And then it got really, really dark, and if it had been a few degrees colder we'd have had plenty of snow to add to the snowpack. Instead, rain, lots and lots of it. Consequentially, one of those rare days when we got skunked out of a hike through the ravine. Well -- there's always tomorrow.

I don't really think Jackie and Jillie minded at all. Each time we took them out to the backyard to do their thing they came back into the house for a good towelling-down. They may hate the rain, but they love being towelled dry.