Morgan Mile Manor Meal Plan Oct 19, 2026 - Oct 25, 2026
Well, it's Monday again, which means it's time for another installment of "What the fuck are we eating this week?"
I don't know who decided that human beings need three meals a day, seven days a week, for their ENTIRE FUCKING LIVES, but I'd like to have a word with them. Seriously. We just ate yesterday. Why are we doing this again?
Here at Morgan Mile Manor, I've once again put together a menu that would suggest we're feeding a family of twelve instead of two adults and a Great Dane who eats better than most people I know.
And before anyone gets the impression that I'm slaving away in the kitchen every night, let me clear that up. Jet does most of the cooking. I do the meal planning, grocery shopping, and occasionally wander into the kitchen to ask if he thinks whatever he's making needs more garlic or cheese.
He LOVES that. I'm sure of it.
I like to think of myself as the executive chef. You know, the one who makes all the decisions, takes most of the credit, and doesn't actually have to stand over a hot stove.
It's not laziness. It's called DELEGATION, and frankly, I think I'm fucking fantastic at it.
Anyway, here's what's happening at Chez Morgan Mile this week.
MONDAY – PANDA EXPRESS CAN SUCK IT
Pork Fried Rice, Crab Rangoons & Sautéed Garlic Snow Peas.
We're making Chinese takeout at home because apparently spending $75 on groceries and destroying 14 dishes is more economical than ordering $35 worth of takeout. MAKE IT MAKE SENSE.
TUESDAY – TACO TUESDAY'S SLUTTY COUSIN
Chicken & Cheese Quesadillas with Spanish Rice.
It's chicken and melted cheese folded into a tortilla. Simple. Delicious. And if enough cheese doesn't ooze out when you cut it, I personally consider that a manufacturing defect.
WEDNESDAY – CROCKPOT & CHILL
Slow Cooker Pulled Pork Sandwiches, Macaroni & Cheese & Green Beans.
Throw a pork roast in the crockpot, ignore it for eight hours, and suddenly you're a culinary genius. Honestly, this is the kind of commitment I'm looking for in a kitchen appliance.
THURSDAY – COLONEL SANDERS, HOLD MY BEER
Homemade KFC-Style Popcorn Chicken Bowls with a Side Salad.
Mashed potatoes, popcorn chicken, corn, gravy, and cheese all piled into one glorious bowl of poor nutritional decisions.
And a salad.
Because nothing screams "I CARE ABOUT MY HEALTH" quite like eating 900 calories of gravy-covered happiness and following it with three pieces of lettuce.
Also, Thursday is MY night to cook because Jet's usually out in his tree stand. So if dinner goes sideways, blame the wildlife.
FRIDAY – EVERYBODY GETS A CALZONE, NOBODY GETS AN OPINION
Make-Your-Own Calzones with Uncle John's Salad.
It's basically pizza folded in half, which somehow makes it a completely different dinner.
And Uncle John's Salad? IF YA KNOW, YA KNOW.
If you don't know, I'm not explaining it. Some family secrets are more closely guarded than the nuclear launch codes.
SATURDAY – FIVE-STAR DINING IN PAJAMA PANTS
NY Strip Steaks, Baked Potatoes & California Blend Vegetables.
We're having steak because we're sophisticated adults with refined palates.
We'll sit down to a beautiful steak dinner like civilized human beings, pretending we're at some fancy steakhouse instead of our own dining table, where the dress code is optional and nobody's tipping the chef.
Meanwhile, the Sugar Bear will stare at Jet like she hasn't eaten since the Eisenhower administration.
And he'll give her some. Of course he fucking will.
SUNDAY – CARBS, CHRIST, AND A FOOD COMA
Lasagna with Vodka Meat Sauce, Garlic Bread & Greek Salad.
A beautiful homemade lasagna layered with meat sauce, cheese, more cheese, and enough pasta to put an entire Italian village into a medically induced nap.
The garlic bread is for soaking up the sauce.
The Greek salad is there so we can tell ourselves we ate a vegetable.
And there you have it. Seven dinners, one grocery bill that should qualify as a tax deduction, and a boyfriend who deserves a Michelin star for putting up with my weekly culinary ambitions.
I come up with the ideas. Jet executes them. I stand nearby offering helpful suggestions like, "Maybe a little more cheese?" and "Are you sure that's enough garlic?"
I'm basically the Gordon Ramsay of doing absolutely fucking nothing. Except I also buy the groceries, so technically I'm an investor.
And after all that food, all that planning, and all that cooking, you know what the most ridiculous part is?
By 8:30 every night, one of us will look at the other and say...
"You know what would be really good right now? A little snack."
WE JUST ATE ENOUGH FOOD TO FEED A HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL TEAM.
And somewhere in the background, the Sugar Bear is impatiently waiting for her nightly vanilla ice cream like a 140-pound dairy inspector who WILL be filing a formal complaint if dessert is late.
Comments