The week between Christmas and New Year's. The tradition week. The appetizer week. The liminal week.
Caleb wore his Head Chef apron every day. He cooked breakfast three mornings — scrambled eggs, toast, and 'fruit salad' (which was just cut-up banana, but he called it a salad and I will not diminish the effort).
Hazel's toy kitchen produced approximately forty-seven 'meals' this week. She served me plastic spaghetti, plastic chicken, and a plastic cake, all on plastic plates. I ate them all with theatrical enthusiasm. 'Mmmm, Hazel, this is DELICIOUS.' She beamed. The chef who cooks plastic food with total sincerity.
Two kids. Two kitchens. One real, one toy. Both producing meals.
Ryan wrote in his journal on Christmas night. He's been writing for over a year now. The spiral notebook has been replaced by journal number two. He doesn't share what he writes, but sometimes he reads a sentence aloud — a sentence that surprised him, a thought he didn't know he had until the pen found it.
This week: 'Torres would have been the best uncle. He would have taught the kids to laugh. He already did — they just don't know it was him.'
He read that aloud and then looked at me with the expression of a man who has excavated something from the deepest part of himself and found it beautiful.
New Year's Eve. Appetizers. Cider. Pot-banging. Hazel AWAKE this year — she banged a pot with the enthusiasm of a drummer at a rock concert. The pots survived. The neighbors may not have.
Made the appetizer spread. The tradition.
2024 ends. The cookbook year. The grandparent visit year. The Head Chef apron year.
On to 2025.
The appetizer spread is our tradition — it’s the one thing that stays the same no matter what the year held. This year, with Hazel banging her pot at midnight and Caleb still wearing his Head Chef apron with total authority, I wanted something that felt festive but unfussy, something the whole family could reach for between rounds of cider and chaos. Oven Parmesan Chips were exactly that: golden, crispy, gone in minutes, and honestly the kind of simple thing that lets the night itself be the event.
Oven Parmesan Chips
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 2 cups freshly grated Parmesan cheese
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat. Heat oven to 400°F. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone baking mats.
- Mix the cheese. In a small bowl, combine the grated Parmesan with garlic powder, smoked paprika, and black pepper. Stir to distribute the seasonings evenly.
- Portion onto sheets. Drop heaping tablespoons of the cheese mixture onto the prepared baking sheets, spacing them at least 2 inches apart. Use the back of the spoon to flatten each mound into a thin, even round about 2 inches in diameter.
- Add herbs. If using, press a few thyme leaves onto the top of each round before baking.
- Bake. Bake for 12–15 minutes, until the edges are golden brown and the centers are set. Watch carefully in the last few minutes — they go from golden to overdone quickly.
- Cool. Remove from the oven and let the chips cool on the pan for 5 minutes. They will crisp up as they cool. Transfer to a serving platter or wire rack.
- Serve. Serve at room temperature as part of an appetizer spread. Pairs well with marinara, whipped ricotta, or on their own straight from the pan.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 110 | Protein: 9g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 1g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 380mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 455 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.