Antici... pation

I love leftovers. If I could, I'd eat them 6 days a week. Sadly, one has to actually have the first meal for it to really count, otherwise you're just planning ahead (something I also do- often, and not just in regard to food).

I've met several people in my life now who just won't eat them. This has puzzled me for a very long time. First of all, I was never really given a choice as to what I did/didn't eat as a child. In a large household, there was little short-order cooking done. And with so many mouths, there was always at least one person who wouldn't like some element of the meal or another.

As I was heating up my leftover veggie-loaded mac and cheese, it occurred to me one of the reasons I probably love them so much. Sure, the flavors have mingled and taken on a whole new element, but let's delve into my psyche for a minute.

In a family of 8 (I don't remember much when there were 9 of us), growing up among the Valley of the Giants (all many years my senior and all much taller than I, even in adulthood), leftovers were a prized rarity. If you did happen to have a meal you liked, it was unusual to find more of those tasty morsels the following day before being snarfed down as someone else's luch or snack, beating you to it. Sometimes one would be dreaming of it all morning, only to walk in the door from school or some other activity as someone is shoveling in that very last forkful of the coveted tasty goods. Living in a microwave-free household, it didn't hurt that most things were warmed up in a cast iron pan with bacon grease (it's a miracle I was a skinny child-- probably just because I was too slow on seconds and leftovers).

Wow, just typing "bacon grease" made me drool a little.

I love this time of year, moving into the cooler seasons, for many reasons. One of them is that it means I'm cooking more and stocking my refrigerator and freezer with more servings of soups, stews and casseroles to come.