My after-dinner job is to put away the leftovers. I'm not sure how that one fell to me, but it did. I actually like this job. Why? Because, each night, it's like a little game. The objective of the game is simple -- find the smallest possible container in which to fit each leftover item.
This obsession of mine is something I'm pretty sure I inherited from my mother. She is particularly skilled at the art of storing leftovers. Her calling card is the way in which she transfers leftovers into increasingly smaller containers as the leftovers begin to disappear.
For example, assume that she made three pounds of spaghetti for dinner but we were only able to eat two pounds. The extra pound of spaghetti would get stored in the appropriately-sized container. The next day, that container would get pulled out for lunch for whoever wanted it. Let's say that another half-pound would get eaten. Most people would just put the remaining spaghetti back in the refrigerator in the same container. Not my mother. She'd pull a smaller-sized container out of the cupboard, transfer the remaining spaghetti into it, and put the new container into the refrigerator.
Kim cured me of that habit many years ago. But, I'm still extremely focused on using the smallest container I can to store each night's leftovers. Usually, I'm pretty darn good. Tonight, though, I had a major problem with the mashed potatoes. I sized up what remained and pulled one of the smaller Pyrex bowls out of the corner cabinet. I began spooning mashed potatoes into it. About two-thirds of the way through, I was pretty sure that I'd guessed wrong. That didn't stop me. I kept right on going.
When I was done, the mashed potatoes stood a good quarter-inch above the top of the bowl. I decided to try and get the lid on anyway. Slowly, I started to push it down. Sure enough, excess mashed potatoes soon started pouring over the edge. I scraped them off with my finger, licked that finger, and then grabbed the serving spoon. I took out a spoonful of mashed potatoes, ate it, and tried again. I still had too much in the leftover bowl. So, I helped myself to another heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes and tried once more to get the lid on the bowl. And, once again, I failed. Finally, after three tries -- and three heaping spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, I got the lid on the bowl.
The only good thing about this little fiasco is that Kim wasn't home to see my failure. The bad news is that I'm stuffed so full of mashed potatoes that I'm going to have to take a pass on the apple pie that's just sitting there in the refrigerator waiting for me to eat it. That's probably a good thing. If I ate a piece, I'd just be tempted to take the remaining amount out of the pie plate and stick it back in the refrigerator on a more appropriately-sized plate. We couldn't have that, now could we?
