Our weeknight dinner rotation (I finally wrote it down)

Wednesday's broken-spaghetti-with-greens, right before the lemon.

I get asked what we cook on weeknights approximately once a week, which — given that I only ever cook the same six things — feels like an act of generosity on the part of the people asking. But it's a good question, and I've been meaning to write the list down for a long time, so here we are.

A few caveats before we begin. First: I am not a very good cook. I am a steady cook. There is a difference. A good cook makes a new thing on Tuesday because she saw a recipe that looked interesting; a steady cook makes the same chicken every Tuesday because she knows it will work and because she has already thought enough about twenty-seven other things today. Second: we eat these because they're cheap, fast, and (mostly) use ingredients we always have. They are not fancy. They do not involve a lot of steps. If you are looking for a weeknight dinner that requires only one bowl, a skillet, and about half a brain, you are in the right place.

The six meals, in the order they usually land

Monday — Lemon Orzo Soup

Our Monday night is always soup. Always. It resets us after a chaotic weekend and it is the one meal Sam will eat without negotiation. My go-to is a lemony orzo soup: olive oil and onion in the pot until soft, a couple of carrots diced small, a few handfuls of orzo, broth (I use boxed; I do not feel guilty), a few handfuls of spinach at the very end, and the juice of a whole lemon. Salt, pepper, parmesan on top. It is ready in about twenty-five minutes.

I make a big pot on purpose because Mark will take the leftovers for lunch on Tuesday and be, frankly, delighted.

Tuesday — Sheet-Pan Chicken & Broccoli

Chicken thighs, bone-in skin-on because they're cheaper and they taste better. I rub them with olive oil, salt, pepper, paprika, a little garlic powder, whatever else is on the shelf that looks friendly. They go on a sheet pan in a 425° oven for about thirty minutes.

At the twenty-minute mark I add broccoli florets tossed in olive oil and salt to the same pan. Ten more minutes — the broccoli gets a little dark on the edges, which is how it's supposed to be, no matter what Ellie says. We serve it with rice from the rice cooker, which I started three hours ago because I'm a rice-cooker-three-hours-ago kind of person.

Wednesday — Pasta Night (rotating)

Wednesday is pasta, and the specific pasta depends on what's in the fridge. The three variations in rotation:

• Cacio e pepe-ish. Spaghetti, butter, a lot of pepper, parmesan, a spoonful of pasta water. Sam's favorite.
• Broken spaghetti with garlic and greens. Olive oil, sliced garlic, whatever green is dying in the crisper drawer (kale, spinach, arugula), a squeeze of lemon. I break the spaghetti in half before I cook it and the Italian internet has not yet come for me.
• Butter-tomato pasta. The Marcella Hazan one — onion, butter, a can of whole tomatoes, simmer forever. This is the fanciest thing I make, and it requires nothing of me.

Thursday — Bean & Rice Bowls

Rice in the rice cooker. A can of black beans warmed up on the stove with olive oil, cumin, and a little garlic. We top the bowls with whatever is reasonable — avocado if it's ripe, a fried egg if I'm feeling ambitious, salsa from the jar, a little cheese, sometimes sour cream. Ellie likes hers with nothing but the beans and cheese, which is fine. Sam eats the rice and picks around the beans, which is fine. Mark builds an enormous bowl with everything, which is also fine.

This dinner costs us maybe four dollars and it is universally agreed upon, which is a small miracle in a house with a four-year-old.

Friday — Breakfast for Dinner

Pancakes, fried eggs, bacon if we have it, fruit on the side. This is a Friday tradition that started by accident about two years ago and has become load-bearing. The kids are fried by Friday. I am fried by Friday. Mark is home early on Fridays and he takes over the pancakes, which means I get twenty minutes on the porch with a glass of wine, which is arguably the entire point.

Saturday — Pizza (store-bought dough, no shame)

I buy the ball of pizza dough from our grocery store's bakery. It is three dollars. It makes two pizzas. We do one with just sauce and mozzarella for the kids, and one for us with whatever's in the fridge — often leftover roasted vegetables from earlier in the week, or fresh tomatoes if it's summer, or just mushrooms and a lot of black pepper.

Saturday is not a weeknight, but it's part of the rhythm. Saturday pizza means Sunday leftovers, which means I don't have to cook on the hardest night of the week.

The grocery list I actually use

This is the list I keep on a magnet on the fridge. It has a few notes from the kids ("goldfish please!!" from Ellie, in pencil) but here is the clean version:

Always on hand

• Olive oil, butter, salt, pepper
• Yellow onions, garlic, lemons
• Rice, pasta, orzo
• Canned tomatoes, canned black beans, canned chickpeas
• Parmesan, block cheddar, a little jar of salsa
• Eggs
• Whatever bread is good that week

Fresh, weekly

• Chicken thighs (about 2 lb)
• Broccoli, spinach or kale, carrots
• Whatever fruit is in season — apples most weeks, berries when they're cheap
• One avocado, hopefully ripe
• Milk, plain yogurt, half-and-half

Occasional

• Bacon (Fridays, sometimes)
• A ball of pizza dough (Saturdays)
• A new vegetable I'm trying, which I will buy and then not use

It's probably a $120 grocery haul per week at our store, which is reasonable for a family of four in 2026.

Why I write the list down on paper

I tried the grocery app thing. I tried the shared note on our phones. I tried a spreadsheet. None of it stuck. Paper, stuck to the fridge with a magnet, near where I actually cook, works. When I use the last lemon I write "lemons" on the list. When I open the last can of beans I write "beans." By the time I go to the store, the list has written itself.

There is something deeply calming about the paper list. It is the same calm I get from a handwritten card or a real book. I know this is a cliché now, but it is a cliché because it's true.

Most of what I've learned about cooking has nothing to do with recipes. It has to do with the fact that you have to do it every night, forever, and the best thing you can do for your future self is make it simple.

Permissions, if you want them

A few things I want to give you permission to do, if you are the kind of person who needs permission from a blog:

• Eat the same six things every week. It is not boring. It is restful.
• Use canned beans. Use frozen broccoli. Use pre-minced garlic if you have a long day.
• Don't make a new thing. Please don't make a new thing. Make a thing you know.
• Throw the whole dinner out and order a pizza sometimes. This is a healthy and legal activity.

What I've learned, after years of trying to be a more creative weeknight cook, is that creativity is for the weekend. Tuesdays are for chicken.