The Non-Reproducible Cheeseball

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!”

RoFL

There’s a metaphor in here.  Can you find it?

 

Musical Moment 

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7 Responses to The Non-Reproducible Cheeseball

  1. Amy Lawler says:

    I’m pretty sure that there are band members who would pay dues in exchange for a cheeseball.

  2. Melissa Mark says:

    Um… don’t judge a cheeseball by its mold? or… cheeseballs, more than meets the eye?
    I love RFL. And you!

  3. Padraic Taaffe says:

    That’s basically the DRUMFORT principle in action: when I was a chef at the Hotel Adlon in Berlin, we had a variety of regular bookings for lunchy business meetings – the Russian embassy came often, as did the Rotarians. At first we would plan the menus in great detail, but regardless of the name of the group, it was almost all late-middle aged men who drank lots of booze and were not into fancy food so much as into the cachet of telling people that they were meeting at the most famous hotel in Mitteleuropa. Anyway, we stopped trying so hard, and the menu board just said “DRUMFORT”, which means, ‘Alles das Drum steht und Fort muss”, or, “Anything lying around that’s gotta go”.

    DRUMFORT has been the guiding principle of my life ever since.

    • anne says:

      I love this and will forward to my parents. btw – I had to stop after “when I was a chef” and take a moment – my parallel opener would be “when I was living in Dante’s Third Circle of Hell.”

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