Tag: food

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Leftovers

“You ate the damn bunny?”

With these sweet, affirming words my wife greeted me this past Easter morning. How was I to know that particular, tasty little chocolate bunny was earmarked for one of our kids? There wasn’t a label on it. And for the record, it was totally worth it.

My wife was not pleased. She seldom is on days when I forage like a roving bear through our fridge, pantry, and shelves. This describes my behavior on most days.

I developed this bad habit as a child. My parents were late morning sleepers. My sister and I were early morning risers. So my parents began to leave out breakfast cereal, two bowls, and two spoons. Their message was clear: kids help themselves and leave mom and dad alone for another hour of sleep.

Soon tiring of mere breakfast self-service, my sister and I began to forage further afield. If we put a chair on top of the counter we could reach the jar with the chocolate chips. If we stuck a hairpin in the lock on the pantry we could access nuts, syrup, coconut, and other delicacies. Sweet dreams mom and dad, we can take it from here.

It turns out the bad habit of foraging is rather widely shared by others. In college, my brother taped a sign to their refrigerator aimed at his roommates: “Opening and closing the fridge door will not magically make food appear”. Another friend describes his own foraging habit by simply stating, “Chuck: I can work a fridge”. I have seen this. He speaks the truth. He is a one man swarm of locust on the leftovers.

And leftovers are the foraging focal point of my marital tension. After a good meal my wife and I fill the Tupperware with leftovers and put them in the fridge. In my wife’s mind, this will be her lunch for tomorrow. In my mind, this will be my snack in about 30 minutes. As noted previously, if there is no label on it, it’s fair game. She does not agree. We are taking this issue to arbitration.

This morning I “accidentally” ate my wife’s leftover lunch that she was taking to work. She was understandably upset. So I made it up to her by slipping a leftover chocolate Easter bunny into her purse on her way out the door. I confess that before doing so, I first nibbled a bit off the butt.

 

[If you know others who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]

{Image Credit: Card Karma on Flickr}

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The 4th of July

My extended family gathers on the Mississippi River each 4th of July to celebrate with fun and gluttony. These gatherings are the source of many of my favorite memories.

Anchoring the weekend is the keg – sometimes two kegs – of Miller Lite. In recent years this has been supplemented by margaritas and single malt whisky.

As the morning sun sparkles on the mighty river the breakfast pizza awaits – topped with bacon, ham, eggs, sausage. Or for the weight conscious, perhaps just a bowl of ice cream and left over Cheetos. My wife became an official member of the family one year when she came downstairs holding an ice cream bar and wine cooler at 9:30 AM. She had officially joined the dark side. There was wild cheering.

Lunch usually includes deviled eggs and ham salad – a dish that consists of neither ham, nor salad. It is ground bologna and mayonnaise with chives thrown in for roughage. You slather it on Wonderbread. An hour after ingesting this, the cottage septic system takes one vicious beating after another.

Evening favorites include fried catfish or “tacos in a bag”. The latter involves each family member with their own personal bag of Doritos. The bag is flattened, opened, and then ground beef, cheese, and tomatoes (veggies, so important) are scooped in and mixed around with the crushed Doritos. Then you just dig into the bag with a spoon. No messy cleanup!

After this we waddle to the campfire for S’mores with a side of diabetes. The campfire is the site of legendary family bonding: inappropriate fireside skits, inappropriate song and dance, inappropriate amounts of liquor. And so much 4th of July explosives that it leaves ashes in your drink.

Nearby is a small town which hosts our favorite 4th of July Parade. One year as the parade rolled past, a young lady waved from the back of a pick-up truck proudly wearing a sash that read “Clayton County Beef Queen”. Twenty minutes later the exact same girl rolled past a second time sporting a different sash that read “Clayton County Pork Queen”.  Here was true 4th of July Iowa royalty.

So too are my three lovely aunts who make the family celebration possible each year. This story is dedicated to you, with all my love and thanks. HAPPY 4TH OF JULY everyone!

 

[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]