I ♥ leftovers.

Not quite as catchy as “I♥NY” but the sentiment’s as sincere.

About now, I expect a lot of you have happily chucked the remains of the turkey with a heartfelt “that’s entirely enough of that for another year.”

Not me! Because I didn’t cook the Thanksgiving meal this year, I was only lucky enough to take home a few goodies — enough for a full plate each for Mike and me. They were delicious, but left me hungry for more.

Nothing makes me happier than leftovers in the fridge — knowing that my next meal is already made, no thought required, just heat it up and enjoy. It doesn’t bother me a bit to eat Rustic Polenta or Mediterranean Couscous 3 days in a row for lunch and dinner or stuffing for a week.

I think this is a new idea for Mike, though. My mother-in-law has the uncanny ability to always prepare the right amount of food  — 4 servings. Everyone is always full; there are never any leftovers. Makes me wonder if this is a small family-big family thing (Mike is an only child; I have 6 siblings.).

It also explains why Mike has put on weight since we’ve been married — it’s not that my cooking is so good, it’s just that it’s so much. And, in his world, leftovers are unheard of, so we must have to eat it all the first time.

Unfortunately, I have no such excuse for my own post-nuptial portliness — I’ve always cooked this way. Big family = making a lot, and cooking for two seems like such a waste of time. All that effort for only one meal? No thanks. I’m happy for my 3-quart crockpot, my hefty pots and pans, pasta by the pound, and the wonder of microwave reheating. 

What’s for dinner? To echo my mother (see Pie in the Sky post ), “I have no idea.” But you can be sure it’ll be tomorrow’s lunch  — and if I’m lucky — dinner, too.

The most remarkable thing about my mother is that
for thirty years she served the family nothing but leftovers. 
The original meal has never been found. 
                                                        ~ Calvin Trillin