To say that the cold has started to creep into my bones would be an understatement. I know that I can't really complain, that my friends everywhere else are getting snow, and at most I'm suffering from the wintry, watery grey light that envelopes New York at this time of year, but I feel as though as though winter is here, and here to stay. The upside of cold wether, though, as we all know so well, means frothy hot chocolate and cookies and soups and stews, but unfortunately for me, tonight was leftover night.
It had to be. My refrigerator (and the freezer, too) was (is) packed with leftovers--the end of that chili, onion tart, two soups, a listing piece of chicken pot pie, some macaroni and cheese, pasta sauce, and some leftover broccoli, to boot. I just couldn't justify making something else, though I'm sure I will regret it once Friday rolls around and there is nothing to eat for lunch and I will actually have to break down and buy something.
For all my griping, though, leftover night can be kind of thrilling in it's own right. So many choices! And not once did I have to turn on the stove, chop vegetables, marinate, make a mess to be cleaned. The most strenuous work I did tonight was to boil some water for pasta, and Jeff turned on the oven. Otherwise, the usually cheery chop chop of the knife and the scrape of the whisk and the clunk of the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot are quiet. I kind of miss it, the rhythm of preparation, the conversation between myself and the raw ingredients, but a break is always good. Essential, even. No doubt, tomorrow I'll be back on track, spreading the warmth into everything again. Warding off the chill of winter is what we do best.