Dinner at Mom's

Here I go again.

I'm trying to hijack another dinner at my mother's house.

She invited us over for New Year's Day and said she'd make some lemon glazed honey mustard chicken. When I asked my mother how she makes it, she got defensive. She wanted to know why I was asking so many questions. Then she confessed: it comes from a packet.

"But I embellish it,'' she said.

Maybe it's because I've read enough Michael Pollan's to only want to eat "real food," but anything that comes from a packet tastes of chemicals and preservatives to me.

So I did what I always do. I offered to host dinner at my house. I want to try a recipe for cholent, a Jewish stew printed in last week's New York times that cooks overnight. Adapted from "Quick & Kosher: Recipes From The Bride Who Knew Nothing" the stew has molasses and smoked paprika and simmers for 15 hours in a crock pot. For now I can only imagine how good it, tastes but I am hoping to find out soon.

"Should I bring my chicken, too?" my mother asked. I didn't get a chance to politely say no. Nor did I win this one yet. There is still a month of negotiations, but I have a feeling everyone who will be around that dinner table is on my side. I could make the stew at home and bring it to her house, which has some advantages, namely she has a dishwasher and we wouldn't have to get our apartment ready for company. But I am not that familiar with the ins and outs of crock pot cooking and I'm not sure how well it will work if I travel with the stew and than reheat it.

I could take the high road and just eat whatever my mother wanted to cook and not say a word. But then again, isn't life too short to eat bad food?