Our family’s best, newest tradition: Sunday is taco night. Grilled vegetables, black beans, fresh guac, hot salsa, warm tortillas and cold cerveza. We spread out the whole feast like a picnic on the ottoman and watch the latest episode of Nature. It’s one of those simple things that makes life good.
With a show of (somewhat lackluster) support from our kids, we’re trying to make ‘Taco Night’ a regular thing around our house. This evening it was beer-battered salmon tacos piled high with salsa verde, fresh jalapeños from our garden, and slices of avocado.
Sawyer and Zola accept the filling only as a vehicle for the tortilla. They are spartan tacos, at best. It’s a start.