The lost art of leftovers

My Dear Husband is feverish with germs inherited from Little One, who is so tired he fell asleep on the sofa, and Number One Son has a school play tonight. I'm barely hanging on, too frazzled from quasi-single parenting to create anything resembling a culinary masterpiece tonight.

The 'normal' thing to do on a day like this is to send out for pizza or grab something from a supermarket deli, but the last thing I want to do is get in the car again. My mother, a child of the Depression, whispers in my ear (all the way from her home in California--how does she do that?), "waste not, want not!"

All right, then, leftovers it is. The fridge yields two-ish servings of salmon and rice, some spaghetti and red sauce, a container of Rotkohl (passes the smell test), a handful of raw curly kale, and one boiled red potato. The kale and potato are chopped and tossed into the frying pan, the rest line up for their turn in the microwave.

I reflect on how amazing it is that in one short generation we have gone from our parents' forced frugality: my parents lived--and starved--through the Depression, my husband's through World War II in Britain and Germany, to this time of so much food being wasted that municipalities are beginning to recognize it as a problem. Sampling resources online, anywhere from 10% to nearly 30% of the residential waste stream in this country is food. Our city has contracted with the garbage company to provide little food waste buckets for our kitchen counters. The contents are composted along with our yard waste.

It is especially appalling when I consider how much easier it is to reheat leftovers now than the few (short?) years ago, before microwaves. I recall one evening when my parents were going out, leaving me and my brother to fend for ourselves (this was considered normal, responsible parenting back then). Mom provided what she thought were simple instructions for reheating our dinner, leftover shrimp Newburg. The rice and shrimp went in a double-boiler: all we had to do was bring the water to a boil, set the timer for 20 minutes, and eat it. Sounds simple, but we were very literal, not understanding that we needed to turn the burner down once the water started boiling. Predictably, we got distracted, and didn't notice the the lower part of the pot had boiled dry until it had actually melted down, resulting in a Leaning Tower of double boiler and a horrid acrid smell. My brother bravely took the whole thing outside at arm's length and hosed it down. After the burner had cooled (approximately the time it took to make and eat peanut butter and jam sandwiches for supper), we peeled the aluminum pot bottom off like so much foil.

We had a good, if funky, menu last night. I know the food was good, for I made it myself, just not last night. There is still one portion of spaghetti leftover, which will make a very nice lunch for a little boy who is still young enough to love noodles more than girls.