I grew up eating leftovers, I never knew there was a choice. My mom brought home “leftovers” from Frank’s and I ate leftover sausage and mushroom pizza for breakfast, technically leftovers. We fought over leftovers. You looked in the fridge and saw that brown paper bag, small grease stain and you silently mouthed “yes” with a mild fist pump. Even unwrapping it was a joy. Carefully wrapped in wax paper, like a present on Christmas morning.
But when I had children of my own leftovers took on a different connotation..it was a demon, lurking in the fridge. It strikes fear into my children and now grandchildren.
What’s for dinner? Leftovers. I watch the color drain from their young faces and wait for the calculated response… oh. Such power to be the dinner provider and hold the sword of sustenance above their heads proclaiming “leftovers” like William Wallace says “Freeeeedom” in Braveheart.
My children grew up hating leftovers (I only discovered this recently) I spent most of my life thinking I could revive anything and recreate it once if not twice, reveling in my creativity in the face of minimal dinner offerings. Apparently my children did not share my optimism and joy of leftover dinner.
While I still eat leftovers and enjoy them, I had forgotten the torture it was for my children, the forlorn faces, eyes darkened by dismay of eating leftovers…Surely we can have a fresh meal everyday they seem to plead.
Two months ago the leftover Demoness rose from her crypt and leftovers was in full swing. It started with Christmas and the leftover ham/turkey. It became sandwiches, Turkey soup (which was very good), even Turkey Ala King…until one pleading day my 6 year old grandson patiently queried “Are we done eating Christmas food now?” To which his sister echoed “that is the last of the ham isn’t it?” My evil response? Omelets tomorrow. :)😉
A collective groan was released, they looked as if they had been forced to eat a bowl of lukewarm porridge. I laughed uncontrollably at their plight.
We have discussed my love of leftovers and their dislike as we are now adults. My life long theory has always been”when you buy the food, you will understand” my theory was wrong.Both married, one will eat them begrudgingly and the other forces them into her husbands lunch like unwanted toys begging to be loved.
Oh we can all laugh about it now, baked spaghetti, hot turkey sandwiches and all of the culinary delights I whip up from leftovers. I equate my love of leftovers to this scene from the 1996 movie “Big Bully”
What is this?
What’s hot dish?
Well, last week we had lasagna, then it became spaghetti and when it’s finally unrecognizable, they call it Hot Dish.
Welcome to Gma’s house.
Until next time, what’s for dinner?