Much to my husband’s chagrin, I don’t cook much now that we’re empty nesters.

Nowadays, my idea of dinner is popcorn paired with pino noir. I don’t feel guilty, because I spent two decades as a short-order cook without pay.

“What’s for dinner, Mom?” my famished kids would inquire every afternoon. Despite the made-to-order lunches I packed them — which featured deli meat sandwiches, fresh fruit, a salty snack, a sweet treat and a fun drink — my three children dragged themselves out of school, arms outstretched, as if they’d crossed the Sahara Desert and barely survived.

My husband wasn’t so dramatic, but make no mistake — when he wasn’t deployed or TDY, he came home hungry. Or rather, hangry. A huge cheese and cracker fan, my husband could down an entire wheel of brie if I didn’t get a meal on the table fast enough.

In those days, I felt under pressure to produce a meal for our family of five. Not just any meal, mind you – a meal that everyone actually liked. A nearly impossible task.

When the kids were little, our kitchen was packed with items intended to please people whose age was in single digits. We had yogurt in tubes, cheese in sticks and chicken shaped like fingers, nuggets and dinosaurs. There were muffins molded into bars, potatoes ground down to tots and bagels reduced to bites.

Pigs rolled into blankets, and pizzas stuffed into rolls. Just about anything wrapped into a pastry pocket – ham and cheese, eggs and bacon, apples and cinnamon. Juice came in boxes and bags. Fruit pulverized into leathery edible skin. PB&Js de-crusted, boxed and frozen.

Everything was compacted into individual servings requiring no utensils, no preparation and no taste buds.

We mustn’t forget the main staple – like tortillas of Mexican cuisine, rice of Asian food and potatoes in Ireland, the children of this nation would starve without the sustenance of boxed macaroni and cheese. Those tiny tubular noodles required no chewing, and the powdered, imitation cheese sauce kept rug rats coming back for more.

When our three children became teens, I mistakenly assumed their palates had matured. I began cooking traditional meals, meals that required utensils and didn’t necessarily involve dipping. Meals with seasonings like garlic and onion. Meals with meat that hadn’t been fed through a grinder, reshaped and breaded. Meals with vegetables that weren’t hidden and fruits that weren’t dehydrated. Meals that didn’t contain sulfur dioxide, xanthan gum or Red dye No. 40.

As I prepared roasts, casseroles, soups and side dishes in my base house kitchen, I envisioned smiling faces passing platters of carved meats and steaming bowls of sautéed vegetables. Norman Rockwell, eat your heart out.

“Ew, a mushroom!” my youngest daughter exclaimed. “Do I have to eat all of this?” my middle child inquired. “The sauce touched my broccoli,” my son complained.

Thankfully, my husband ate anything, especially if I melted cheese on it. “Mmmm, dee-lish,” he’d say through a mouthful.

By the end of each frustrating week, I’d fire up the oven, grab a bag of buns and a bottle of ketchup and throw frozen chicken patties on a cookie sheet. “Yay! We’re having chicken patties tonight!” my kids exclaimed with joy.

“Chicken Patties?” my husband would protest.

“Don’t worry,” I’d allay his fears, “we have plenty of Monterey Jack.”

Now that our children are adults, they finally appreciate my culinary efforts, but during those dicey teen years, I often longed for a revival of TV dinners to solve my problems.

Got a hankering for beef, son? Well, here’s a Salisbury steak dinner just for you! You girls prefer poultry? Why not try this delicious fried chicken dinner? And I’ve got something special for my “hungry man,” too! From freezer to TV tray table in under 30 minutes and no dishes to wash.

Knowing my opinionated lot, they’d still complain. “Ew, the chicken comes with peas!” “The gravy leaked onto the brownie!” “The mashed potatoes have freezer burn!”

I eventually learned to let go of my dream of cooking the perfect family dinner, and simply put something on the table. The rest was just gravy, and apparently our kids never liked that anyway.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com