While traveling out East, I couldn’t figure out how to feed our kids. Because restaurants that catered to families offered burgers, hotdogs and fries on their kids’ menu. Which I couldn’t understand. Because we teach our children basic life skills like how to read and how to swim. Why don’t we teach them how to eat?

Healthy snacks like apples, nuts and raisins we label choking hazards. Yet we don’t label hazards like dyes, especially Red 3, a known carcinogen which goes into some fruit roll-ups.

We tried stopping at grocery stores to stock our hotel room mini fridges, but there is only so much pasta salad a person can eat hunched over. And so I gave in and swore once I returned home I’d never feed our kids fried food again.

Yeah. Anyway.

When I got back, I was excited to dig into our CSA box from Hog’s Back Farm: crispy sweet corn we boiled that first night, a ripe tomato, white onions, spearmint for mojitos to celebrate a friend’s 40th this weekend.

And green beans, which we’ve bundled in bacon and placed in an airtight container in our refrigerator to roast tomorrow night.

Green Bean Bundles, adapted from Paula Deen at The Food Network:

• 1 pound fresh green beans
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 1 tablespoon garlic
• 3 tablespoons Parmesan cheese
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Bacon

Mix olive oil, garlic, salt, pepper, and parmesan cheese in a mixing bowl.

Wash green beans and trim tips. Blanch (place in boiling water) for 3 minutes. Then place in cold water for 6 minutes to stop the cooking process.

Toss green beans in mixture. Wrap 5 stalks per piece of bacon.

Bake at 350 for 10 to 15 minutes, until bacon is cooked.

How do you feed your kids on vacation?

This post is a part of Real Food Wednesday. Even though it’s Friday.

Spring is here, if not officially, then at least in spirit. Today I kicked the kids out when they ran wild underfoot, and rejoiced when they descended on our sandbox. Even our one-year-old was out there, flipping sand into a dump truck. As I watched through our kitchen window, I took a deep breath and appreciated that I wasn’t insane; it was just a long, hard winter.

I longed for the days when kids roamed free, scaled fences to join their neighbors in play. Because not only did that free up kids, but it freed up parents, too. It’s hard to remain calm while living in a pressure cooker. You need a little space every now and then for steam to escape.

And it helps if you know your kids can survive without you; otherwise you drive yourself crazy worrying they can’t (which doesn’t do much for reducing your stress load). But how do you let go? Practice, I guess. Starting with baby steps.

While our children played, I made pasta primavera, with fresh vegetables. This is an easy recipe I fall back on when I forget to thaw meat for dinner.

Pasta Primavera:

• 1 pound thick-cut bacon (optional)
• 3 cups vegetables, chopped (zucchini, squash, mushrooms, pepper etc)
• 1 cup tomato, chopped (fresh or in a jar)
• 1 red onion
• 3 tablespoons minced garlic
• salt and pepper
• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• fresh Parmesan (optional)

Fry bacon in pan. When crispy, remove from pan and drain 3/4 fat.

Saute vegetables in bacon fat (or olive oil). Boil noodles according to package. When noodles are tender, drain and add to vegetables.

Cut up bacon and add to pasta. Then stir in marinara sauce, or eat as is, with fresh Parmesan sprinkled in.

What I love about a new year is it’s full of promise. It’s a chance to let go of the past — after all, who cares what you did last year — and reinvent yourself. Today.

You can let go of your fears.  You can let go of your failures.  You can start to believe you can cook.  Better than Bon Appetit.

You see where I’m going with this?

‘Cause she does.

Tonight, I tried out an appetizer recipe from Bon Appetit for our Turn the Tub Around viewing party at Hot Mama.

(Despite the photograph, I swear I did not stop halfway through the shoot to eat some butter straight from the bucket.  Not that I’m above that. It’s just our tub was empty. I know. I checked.)

Only I didn’t have sesame seeds, but found Panko bread crumbs in my pantry. Nor did I have pancetta, what I’ve come to think of as fancy, overpriced bacon (not that I’ve ever bought it; is it expensive?).

And so rather than following their Pancetta-and-Seasame-Coated Turnip recipe, I came up with my own:  Panko-and-Bacon-Coated Turnips:

• 16 slices bacon
• 2 large turnips
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup panko
• vegetable oil

Looks yummy, right? Well, it was. But Bon Appetit knows two things I do not:

First, there is a reason you use a deep-fry thermometer. Although, I must say, our fire alarm works just as well, if you hold your hands over your ears. And second, thinly-sliced pancetta sticks to the turnips, unlike my fat slabs of Lorentz bacon, which unraveled.

We ended up with Panko-and-Bacon-Coated Turnip Kabobs. Which were clumsy, but surprisingly tasty.

Next time, I’d still use Panko.  Only I’d invest in pancetta, too.

Directions: Wrap a slab of bacon around each turnip chunk. Then, dip in egg. Coat with Panko. Deep fry in vegetable oil until Panko lightly browns, about one minute. Then bake at 350 for 7 minutes.

Today I planned to share a fabulous recipe for Bacon and Chocolate German Pancakes with you, only something went wrong. Terribly wrong.

After I read roughly half the food produced in America is never eaten, costing the average household $600 per year, I woke determined to be frugal with our food. Only I think my ideology overtook my good sense. Or surpassed my culinary skills.

Because our 2-year-old, who gleefully accepted what he thought was chocolate cake for breakfast, spit out his pancake and screwed up his face. “Mama, what did you feed me?” he cried, trying to scrape the last bits of it off his tongue.

Bad mama.

It was bacon fat, rather than butter. Whole wheat, rather than white. Unsweetened cocoa powder rather than chocolate chips.

What can I say? I get it now. The sleep deprivation makes me a little insane.

This post is a part of Real Food Wednesday, where I join other bloggers for tips on how to prepare real food (which I obviously need).