It was nearly impossible to find a container for the bit of raviolini that didn’t get eaten last night, which means there are too many leftovers in the fridge.
So this afternoon, I pulled out the odd bits to see what they might add up to: most promising were two wings and a drumstick from Sunday’s roast chicken, along with the pot of carcass and stock, a container of rice, a serving of mashed potato and two spoonfuls of chili. The crisper held three leeks, one carrot, half an onion and two wilted celery stalks. The larder had some shallots and two lonely potatoes.
After discarding the spent onion and celery stalk from the stockpot, I had a more than a quart of stock. But we’re all sick of soup, and we’re not sick, so I need to learn another song. Stew, perhaps? I chopped up the onion and threw it in the pan, then picked the chicken off the bones and tossed that in as well. Added the leeks, and watched it simmer nicely. I threw in a bit of the stock, then thickened it (with cornstarch, no wheat today). A bit of salt, ah, stew!
Number One walks in, sticks his nose in the pot, and says (predictably), “what’s for supper?” “Stew” “That sure doesn’t look like much.” I look at it, and he’s right. It’s thick and rich, just like the inside of a chicken pot pie, but there’s not enough for three hungry men. Pot pie does sound good, but it’s not a wheat day, and I've never managed a golden flaky crust with rice flour. The mashed potatoes, perhaps? I just can’t quite see a shepard’s pie crust on this. Hmm again. I fish the food processor lid out of the dishwasher (this will only take a minute), and shred the two potatoes. Into lovely green olive oil it goes, to brown into a potato crust. Once it’s golden brown, I slide the whole thing on top of the stew and pop it in the oven to bubble. A big green salad will complete the meal.
I tuck the carrot, celery and leftover rice and stock back in the fridge. I can always make some soup tomorrow.
