Food management is not one of my strengths. I cook because we eat, not from a place of wholesome domestic joy. Over the years, Ace and I have strategized approaches to meal-planning: Monday is Fish Night, Tuesday is Taco Tuesday, Wednesday is We-forgot-to-go-to-the-grocery-store-so-we’re-ordering-pizza Night, etc. If Ace were the Home CEO, I’m sure the plan would be implemented successfully. With me at the home helm, well, I’m happy if I cook something a couple times a week.
Lack of planning might lead to excessive food waste if not for the Savior of Questionable Foods, Ruth Lippin, my beloved mother.
Frugal is my mom’s middle name. Seriously. RFL. Ruth can make a box of ziplock baggies last a lifetime. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Mom once objected when I threatened to toss a pile of moldy cheese leftovers in the trash. (Why can’t anyone ever eat the last bits of a chunk of cheese?) “I’ll make them into a cheeseball,” she said. “Uh, okay?” I replied.
Now her cheeseballs are famous. I cleaned out our cheese drawer two weeks ago and delivered the dregs to Mom. She got out her Cuisinart, pushed the magic button, and VOILA! She took the cheeseball to a party with some nice crackers.
“Ruth! This is the best cheeseball I’ve ever tasted! You must give me the recipe!”
There’s a metaphor in here. Can you find it?