Foraging

I eat very oddly when I am on my own.

Wednesday I worked the night shift, and so I had to find my own lunch in the fridge at home. I did pretty good at scrounging, but I would never want to subject someone else to my ad hoc meals. What did I eat? Spinach with caesar salad dressing, and a leftover crepe rolled up with deli ham and sweet pickles. Jim shudders when I describe meals like this.

"Ham and cherries" is what he always says in response, while shaking his head.

When I first met Jim, I would occasionally let him in on my meal descriptions. The key to foraging, for me, is to hit all the food groups. I just stare into the fridge until I've touched on them all. Meat? Leftover ham. Veggie? Peel and eat a carrot. Dairy? Glass of milk or hunk of cheese. Grain? Piece of toast or leftover pancake. Dessert? Handful of cherries. Voila - supper!

Being the chef de cuisine that he is, this idea of a meal is horrifying for poor Jimbo.

And frankly, that's why I married him. Sure, he's cute n' all. But I probably married him mostly because the man can cook. He's the MacGyver of leftovers. When he stares in the fridge, he comes away with salmon salad seasoned with tarragon on toast points, and sliced cucumber in a vinaigrette.

No squirrel with sense would pass up a partner like that.