Ice Age

Everyone has desperation meals. You know, those old standbys you eat when there's nothing in the fridge, you're tired, time-strapped, and possibly broke, and you're way too hungry to go to the grocery store and hunt for ingredients. (Besides, everyone knows it's dangerous to shop on an empty stomach.)

Jackie Mercandetti

Creating a stir: Erika Crepinsek (left) and Krystal Nelson from Entrees Made Easy whip up a batch of shepherd's pie.

Location Info

Map

Entrees Made Easy

4437 E. Southern Ave.
Mesa, AZ 85206

Category: Services

Region: Mesa

Photos

0 user reviews	Write A Review

Details

12 full-order entrees (serves 4-6): $215

12 half-order entrees (serves 2-3): $130

480-991-7300, »web link.
Sessions Monday through Saturday, by appointment.

7704 East Doubletree Ranch Road, Suite 115, Scottsdale (and other Valley locations)

Related Content

• Return to Form
  October 11, 2012
• 5 Fad Diets to Avoid in 2013
  December 26, 2012
• The Great Burger Taste Test: Is BBQ Really Better?
  June 14, 2011
• Smokin' Joe Frazier's Death Evokes Memories of Big Apple Showdown With Ali
  November 8, 2011
• Burn, Baby, Burn! Smokin' Hot Super Bowl Sliders
  January 31, 2011

More About

• George Foreman
• Atkins Diet
• Eating Out
• Foods

For a lot of busy people, desperation happens every night. I've been asking around, and these meals can be anything from omelets or cheese and crackers to PB&J or Special K. And, of course, there's always fast food or takeout if you're headed home to a really bare cupboard.

It's no wonder, then, that assemble-your-own-meal places like Dream Dinners, Super Suppers, and My Girlfriend's Kitchen are all the rage. On the recommendation of a friend, I visited one called Entrees Made Easy, a Mesa-based company with national franchises, four Valley locations, and more stores on the way. I also talked to acquaintances who thought it was fun and convenient. While they adored the concept — saying they loved knowing that dinner was in the freezer, a dinner more complicated than they'd ever venture to make — I was more skeptical.

For one thing, it's a full-on fad. I counted 30 such businesses that've sprung up (or are about to) around the Valley. In the same way that the Atkins diet appealed to people who wanted to lose weight quickly, these meals appeal to stressed-out people who want to save time and money. In other words, just about anyone. But after folks satisfy their curiosity and the trend peaks, how many of these places will be in business?

The idea behind it is that someone else will do the planning, shopping, prep work and cleanup, while you put together a dozen different meals in just an hour or two. Hardly any thought is required. The staffers post recipes at each assembly station, lay out all the ingredients in the order you need them, and even include the appropriate measuring cup for each portion. You just mix and package the meals you've ordered ahead of time. (Monthly menu selections are posted online.) Take 'em home, throw 'em in the freezer, and they're ready whenever you are.

Well, not quite. I took the promises literally, as if the meals were a fancier version of TV dinners. That's only sort of true.

The first night I wanted to make one of the entrees, I had plans to check out some art galleries on Roosevelt Street. By the time I got home from the office, feeling low-blood-sugar grumpy, I was anxious to get dinner ready. I grabbed a pan of basil Florentine shells, took one look at the cooking instructions, and shouted an obscenity. What? The thing needed to be thawed first — in the fridge, which takes a day. It was solid as a rock, and so were all the other entrees I brought home. Dammit, I wanted food! I threw it in the fridge, along with another entree for good measure, and headed out to a restaurant.

I was excited the next day, when I baked the pan of pasta for lunch. It filled the house with a wonderful marinara and pesto aroma, and it tasted as good as it smelled. At that point, I completely appreciated why people are enthusiastic about this do-it-yourself stuff.

Later on, I got back home from a long day of running errands and decided to take a quick power nap before company was coming over. It was comforting to know that I could cook up my now-thawed bag of tangy honey-glazed chicken and still probably have time to do a little housecleaning.

Surprise! I read beyond the first couple sentences of instructions and found out that the chicken thighs had to be marinated first, for 30 minutes. Even a quick grilling on my George Foreman wasn't going to give me enough time to pull off dinner in less than an hour. And considering the disheveled state of my living room (not to mention my appearance), going out wasn't an option this time.

I resorted to frozen pizza.

After that, I threw a whole stack of frozen entrees in the fridge to thaw so I could be more spontaneous. Over the next few days, I ate a variety. The shepherd's pie was a pan full of ground beef, corn, green beans, and tomato sauce, with a layer of mashed potatoes and Cheddar on top. It tasted fine in a basic way, but it didn't look very appetizing when I heaped a watery spoonful onto a plate. Note to self: Eat by candlelight.

Molten lava cakes were great — it's hard to criticize warm, chocolaty desserts — and I thought the hoisin and honey pork chops turned out nicely. Those were already packaged in their own marinade, which also contained soy sauce, chives, and grated ginger. Baked and then broiled in less than 30 minutes, they were surprisingly moist.

As for the Mykonos chicken pockets, I only ate them for the sake of this column. Stuffed with feta and slivers of sun-dried tomato, the chicken breasts were individually foil-wrapped with a few artichokes and a sprinkle of fresh oregano. They sounded good when I ordered them, but the final dish was dry, in desperate need of some olive oil.