LEFTOVERS
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Reading essays about subjects I understand is a joy, which is why I avoid topics like AI, bitcoins, bioengineering and any piece that includes the word “bespoke.”
But LEFTOVERS, that’s something I get. After decades of cooking dinner for my kids, their kids, my husband(s) and greater family, I know what leftovers are. And that’s probably why this essay by Joyce always makes me smile.
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LEFTOVERS by Joyce Butler
Tonight we are having mums, chums, and hard looks for supper; in other words, leftovers. We’ll have some cold sliced pork and bit of hot gravy. I’ll warm up the rest of the scalloped potatoes and the curried fruit that’s left from Sunday. There’s applesauce, and I’ll add some corn to the half cup of lima beans I’ve been saving. The bread I made this morning will give the meal substance, and we’ll have a hearty dessert: pie, or brownie pudding, or peach cobbler. The children will compliment me on the bread and dessert, but they won’t say anything about the rest of the meal. They know that disparaging remarks about the food I’ve prepared are apt to make me cross.
They finally learned that lesson a year or so ago on a night when I tried to serve leftovers creatively. We were having a casserole that I’d spent a good part of the afternoon preparing. Just before supper Stephanie came into the kitchen and said, ‘What’s for supper/“
“A casserole.”
“What’s in it?”
“Noodles, cut up turkey and ham, and cream of mushroom soup ….”
“Yuck,” said Stephanie. And instead of saying mildly, as I usually do, “That will do,” I said, “I will not have you making rude remarks about our food. If that’s the way you feel you can go without your supper.” Looking back I can see that I reacted as I did because secretly I was afraid Stephanie was right.
When we sat down to eat Bob asked innocently, “Where’s Stephanie?”
“She won’t be eating with us tonight because she made a rude remark about the casserole.” There were some startled looks around the table, but the only comment came from Leslie who, after tasting her supper, said pleasantly, “This is a very interesting casserole, Mama.”
I don’t remember whether or not Stephanie did indeed go without her supper. She didn’t have any of the casserole, but I suspect she probably had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before she went to bed.
Since that night, everyone is careful what they say about the food I prepare. If there is something on the table they don’t like, they just don’t eat it. Like tonight for instance; the girls won’t touch the scalloped potatoes and Jamie won’t want any of the fruit. Jamie will ask for seconds on the potatoes and the girls will see that all of the fruit is eaten. They have learned a lesson.
And I, of course, learned a lesson about how to serve leftovers. I don’t try to make a gourmet dish out of the bits of this and that I’ve saved from past meals. Leftover are, after all, leftovers.
I am also careful to follow up a meal of leftovers with something the family really likes. For instance, tomorrow night I’ll make oven fried chicken or baked stuffed haddock. The only leftover food in sight will be the remains of the dessert I’m making for tonight.
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I had the pleasure of getting acquainted with Joyce late in her life. When I read her obituary a year and a half ago, I knew the Kennebunks had lost a special lady. “Take each day as it comes” remained her sage advice. A voracious reader, Joyce shared her love of words, books and discovery without bounds. Writing about family life and her interpretation of current and past events in her life took root in a weekly newspaper column titled Pages From a Journal, published by the YORK COUNTY COAST STAR between 1968 and 1979. Ahead of her time, she self-published a collection of 65 of those columns in a book by the same title that is still cherished today.” Including by me.
