Q.E.D.

I blather on regularly about how leftovers are a blessing rather than a curse, and how having a family with a low tolerance for them makes me a better cook because I have to innovate and transform the remnants of last night’s dinner into something new and different if I want it to get eaten and thus make room in the fridge for either A) a giant pork butt or B) uneaten portions of a meal to be named later. And it’s true. I spend far too much time thinking about how great it would be if I had all day every day to cook, drilling down into the experimentation, fabrication, and execution that leads to a deep relationship with techniques and results. But in the absence of that life of leisure, leftovers are the next best thing.

They’re flavor equity that can be cashed in to make for much more interesting subsequent meals on short notice. The deeper, richer taste of stews made the day before is not accidental; some foods just need more time to taste their best. And sometimes it’s just wonderful to have something ready to deploy without having to prep and roast it first. Like a squash, for example.

There was three quarters of a roasted kabocha sitting in the fridge yesterday, and it made the difference between ordering out for $50 worth of mediocre food from a joint in town and the frugal, fragrant, flagrantly sensual treat we ended up eating instead. It required an assist from pantry, garden, and freezer, but that is after all what they are there for. This meal was an object lesson in how easy good food can be if you have what you need on hand.

The pantry provided arborio rice, something I always try to have around for nights like this one. And that is because the freezer always has some stock in it, so risotto is never more than half an hour away. The stock in question this time was a batch of phở I made using beef, lamb, and duck bones, with a light touch on the aromatics. It’s delicate and sublime, with the spices embellishing simpler fare like this with just the right amount of ornament. And the garden offered up a variety of greens and herbs: radishes, kale, red mustard, and parsley.

I made the risotto per usual, whisking in the roasted squash after the rice had a chance to get used to its new situation, following it with radishes and greens and ladles of phở. As it approached al dentitude, I poured in some milk for the mantecare portion of the program, beating it in with extreme prejudice. The bright red flecks of radish were particularly fetching against the deep yellow rice, which was creamy and unctuous with the roasted squash and faintly perfumed with the cinnamon, clove, anise, and ginger of the phở: spices that happen to play extremely well with squash.

So there it is: if you can make stock once a week and freeze it, and keep your pantry supplied with dry goods, and have something fresh and green on hand, there’s no earthly excuse not to make dinner, even on a night as late and lazy as last. So much pleasure and lingering well-being hinged on my mental rummaging through the fridge and cabinets, followed quickly by the realization that this most elegant of phone-ins was going to save the day. I worked until 5:30 and had this steaming bowl of autumnal goodness on the table by 6.

7 comments to Q.E.D.

  • I like the comment about the leftovers. I too would rather eat fresh, but when you make something that good then it makes eating leftovers all the more better. I had to explain to my wife that the pasta sauces I make (or soups) get better after a day or two sitting. She understands and likes the idea now. Good read. Sounds delish.

  • Eve

    I’ve got 3/4 of a roasted butternut squash sitting in the fridge and was toying with what to do with it. Now I know…

  • Peter

    Mark: If we have soup and I want to have it the next night, I usually add enough different things to it so I can plausibly call it something new.

    Eve: Happy to help.

  • I was just over at Heather (Voodoo) and noticed her last post was about homegrown kabocha that she’d made into a curried soup, along with some crowing about her compost heap. Since a pumpkin patch would take up more yard than we actually have, homegrowns aren’t likely (even though I did just sow some garlic after mixing in this summer’s home-rotted compost), but I would certainly do this with whatever giant orange things we have leftover from Halloween.

    By the way, I’ve never come across mantecare-ing with milk before. I’d thought it meant to use butter, but am I mistaken and it’s a whisking technique?

  • Susan

    Radishes? Really?

    I would love to hear more about cooking with them! (I’m getting huge bunches from the CSA, and I can only take so many in salads….)

  • Peter

    Jonny: It’s raw local whole milk with a nice layer of cream on top and it’s what we had. I find butter to be too much sometimes. A whisk or a wooden spoon, milk, cream, or butter: it’s the spirit that matters.

    Susan: Really. Think of them as tiny turnips. Their juice is interesting, too.

  • Susan

    Ahhh! Tiny turnips, yes, that does make sense. (Same botanical family, but different genus – I just looked it up!) Thanks!

Leave a Reply

 

 

 

You can use these HTML tags

<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>

Yours Truly



I'm a painter who happens to also spend a lot of time growing, making, and writing about food. I'm particularly interested in the intersection of frugal peasant cooking techniques and haute improvisation. And I have a really great personality.

Rage Against The Vitrine

Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.

A Winner Is Me!

Archives

Categories

I’ve been Punk’d