So there I was, holding a beautifully formatted PDF with five dinner recipes that actually sounded good and doable. AI had not only generated a full meal plan, it had packaged it like a digital meal subscription box—minus the cardboard and the weird ice packs.
I was riding high on optimism.
The meal list was tailored to everything I asked for: gluten-free, summer-friendly, red-meat-free, mostly clean, with a couple of vegetarian nights and black beans I promised to cook from scratch (of course I did). Each recipe came with estimated cooking time, clear instructions, and ingredient lists that mostly made sense. I was ready.
Then I asked for a grocery list.
And AI delivered.
It gave me a master grocery list organized by food category—produce, dairy, pantry, etc.—with quantities and clear labels for which ingredients were used in which recipes. It even asked if I’d prefer it in a bullet-point format or a spreadsheet-style table. Fancy, right?
That’s when I got bold and said, “Hey, could you help me get this into my Apple Reminders Grocery List?”
Now listen, it tried. It really did. We went through multiple formats, I tried copying and pasting, adjusting spacing, turning it into checklist items. At one point I was elbow-deep in Settings menus I didn’t even know existed. In the end, let’s just say it didn’t not work… but it also definitely didn’t work. Apple Reminders and I are still not speaking and I was temporarily disgusted with my new AI kitchen buddy.
My Kitchen, My Battlefield
Armed with my recipes and grocery list (that I ended up manually entering on my Apple Grocery List), I set out to conquer the week.
But what started as hopeful enthusiasm turned into what I can only describe as a slow unraveling of domestic confidence.
First, I realized I had skimmed over some quantities while shopping and ended up short on a few vegetables. Or, maybe AI miscounted the peppers needed, not pointing any fingers, but double check your amounts.
Second, as discussed in my previous post, I discovered I had apparently committed to five dinners I’d never made before, all in the same week, after working full days. This might seem like the sort of decision one makes with energy—not thinking about the energy it would take to execute. Lesson learned: spread the new meals out.
But credit where it’s due: AI showed up every time I had a question. How do I roast an eggplant? It walked me through it. What’s the best temperature for grilling vegetables? Done.
And when I noticed that the turkey patties recipe didn’t call for any breadcrumbs? The pupil became the teacher. I knew that ground turkey without a binder is a sticky mess waiting to happen. So I pushed back—nicely—and AI adjusted. Consider this your reminder that just because something comes from a computer doesn’t mean you should ignore your own kitchen instincts.
It was like having a helpful kitchen companion who never got annoyed with my questions, never forgot an ingredient, and never said, “Didn’t we go over this already?”
And Then There Was Tahini
Here’s the thing no one tells you about diving into adventurous meal planning: you might end up with ingredients you’re not quite ready for. I am now the proud owner of a 24 ounce jar of tahini. I used one tablespoon. One. (Coming soon to this blog: 100 Unexpected Ways to Use Tahini That Aren’t Hummus.)
The experience wasn’t perfect, but it was empowering. I learned how to better communicate what I need, how to adjust when things go sideways, and how even a failed Apple Reminders sync isn’t the end of the world.
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