Monday of last week, this was my lunch:
I had leftover kale and sauteed mushrooms in the fridge, so all I had to do was heat up the veggies and fry an egg.
On Friday, I had black forest ham, grainy mustard, mayo, and sharp cheddar on homemade rye. And chips. (Sometimes the younger kids fuss about getting stuck with all the leftovers while the older kids get to pack the “special” food—the yogurt cups, crunchy apples, granola bars, and chips. Lunch that day was all about me trying to be diplomatic.)
The rye came from one of the guys that works with my husband. They were at work and the radio was playing and the guy said, “If any of you can name this band, I’ll give you a loaf of bread.”
My non-musical husband thought for a second and then said, “The Band.”
After the guy scraped his chin off the floor, he said, “Okay, so what do you want? Sourdough? Rye?”
My husband said, “I already know your sourdough is good, so I’ll take the rye. And when you deliver, it better be warm.”
Yesterday I had a bowl of leftover punjabi-style black lentils. They’re supposed to have cilantro sprinkled on top, but I used parsley instead.
I ordered the black lentils since I couldn’t find any in the grocery store. It felt a little ridiculous, spending 15 dollars for several cups of legumes that my family probably wouldn’t like all that much, but I did it anyway, chalking it up to self-education and sophistication and a palate-stretching exercise. Anything to justify, right?
Full menu disclosure: Late morning, I found a pint box of leftover chips in the back hall and ate half of them while staring out the little window at my older daughter, watching as she patiently trailed her horse around the field trying to catch her. And after lunch I had some leftover apricot wreath with coffee, and a couple chocolates.
Inspiration for this post comes from Cup of Jo.
This same time, years previous: last and first, the quotidian (3.21.16), piggies!, a morning’s start, over the moon, the walk home, our house lately, getaway.
