As it turns out, our team is in the Superbowl.

Ok, not really our team, but the local team. In truth, we are not serious (American) football fans. We love a good athletic event as much as we love Downton Abbey or Phineas and Ferb. We  Ella and her dad  watch soccer, baseball, college basketball, more soccer, much of the weekend. But football doesn’t really grab us until the playoffs. Even so, the Superbowl is an Event we don’t miss: the day stops, we cook a whole lot food, and watch it all unfold.

That I care at all is a testament to tradition. When I was a kid in NJ, my dad did watch football all season long.  Sometimes, I watched with him.  We ate a lot of soups on those Sundays, and chili, and warm, cheesy pastas, and sausage and peppers, and meatball sandwiches on TV trays. At the end of the season, there was an annual neighborhood Superbowl party, which involved a whole lot of neighbors and a whole lot of chili and a whole lot of yelling at the TV.   30 years later, 3000 miles away, Superbowl Sunday is programmed into me.

But this year, the only thing I was certain about on Monday was that there would be a giant bowl of Miguel’s Jalapeno Cream Sauce on Sunday. Initial, ambitious party plans fizzled. Red and gold inspiration failed me.   But I knew there would be cream sauce because there is nothing more in the world for a chip to want.

I told Finn the cream sauce part of the plan, and then asked his advice. Chili? Wings? Potato skins? Sliders?

“Those are NOT taco-ish,” he said.  “They don’t really match the cream sauce.”

“True,” I said. “But I’m not spending the Superbowl in the kitchen making tacos.”

He was quiet.  But of course he was  right.  We need tacos.  And I need to relax. Luckily, right down the street is carne asada so good and so cheap there is no sense in ever, ever making your own. So we are getting take-out. Carne asada. Al pastor.  Guacamole. Fresh tortillas. Fresh salsa. Cream sauce. Beer. And since we need something red and gold: 49er Kidtinis.

Because part of learning to eat as a family is learning when it’s better to not cook.