Leftovers + Cucina Nicolina = Mmmmmmm

Image by Brian Vallelunga via Flickr

Never have leftovers been so ... appealing.

Nicole has come up with some new ideas for used food in an article in the Washington Post which argues that leftovers are not a recipe for disaster. No, food love doesn't mean having to say you're sorry (for having to eat the same thing, day after day, until you are sick of it and next time I'm going to cut that recipe in half or even quarters I am so tired of this).

No, the creative force behind Cuccina Nicolina believes that leftovers are an opportunity to innovate, that they are -- wait for it -- ingredients for the Next Great Meal.

"I couldn't bring myself to throw anything away anyway," Nicole told peepsNet in an entirely made-up interview. "But the chance to use the remnants of one meal to create an equally-compelling second meal is just the sort of challenge I like."

No, we are not talking Stone Soup (or even Noodle Soup). We're talking Quinoa Stew and Banana-Chocolate Bread.






Sorry, I must have passed out there for a moment. Where were we?

Oh yes. I remember. Nicole was invited to guest blog at "A Mighty Appetite" on the subject of "Eating down the fridge." I know what you're thinking. This isn't about eating a pickle of questionable provenance and washing it down with the brine. This is about taking a pickle of questionable provenance and very nearly turning it into a chocolate soufflé.

How many of you have eaten this well on what could have been landfill?

The first night I made a fine dinner of chickpeas and the spinach I'd picked up at my neighborhood farmer’s market. I sauteed a few cloves of garlic in olive oil, added the chickpeas, spinach and a splash of water. I poured the whole mess over a pot of couscous. The next night, I tumbled in from my run, chilly and starving, and went immediately for the protein punch of quinoa, to which I added a mushroom, asparagus, and white bean stir fry. The next after that, I roasted half a head of cauliflower and heated up the leftover couscous and chickpeas, freeing up even more space in the fridge. I found a box of long-neglected ravioli I'd never gotten around to finishing, and so happily lapped them up with a from-canned-tomatoes sauce. The shelves were clearing up just a little bit. Toward the end of the week I finished off the cauli, some baked tofu that'd been lingering for a while and the rest of the quinoa. I was sated and my fridge was bare of leftovers.

Ordinarly, I'd end a post like this with, "And she cooks, too." But somehow I think you got that already.

America, Plus 1

This line is nuts! originally uploaded by bfgreen.

When Uncle Sam said, "I Want You!', was this the person he meant?

No High Heels, Please

Nicole's article about noisy neighbors finally saw the light of day at the SF Chronicle, and it's better than even we remember it, whenever the heck that was. Our fact-checkers and librarians are off for the holiday so we can't be sure, but careful readers will find a clue that it has been at least 5 months since this baby was submitted.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, as the case may be) this particular problem is timeless, so the Chron could have waited until next New Year's Eve to print it. Even as the lives which play out in apartments change the apartments themselves remain unaltered windows -- make that sound tunnels -- to other people's worlds.

I once lived in a tiny SoHo apartment, an illegal sublet, which made me even more self-conscious about rousting neighbors who may have been in a position to scotch my sweet deal. And in a perverse reversal of the power dynamic Nicole beautifully describes, it was my downstairs neighbor who held sway.

I was religious in my aversion to making noise. I listened to no music. I watched TV from about 2 feet away (it was a small apartmet, anyway). I never wore shoes indoors and, unlike Nicole, didn't have to make any compromises about not even wearing high heels. I had no pets. For a long time, it was me and only me who lived there.

All was well, for months. But I worked late often and often stayed out even later and one night I came home to find in the stairwell (it was a 6-storey walkup) the daughter of the apartment below making out with a guy from the hood. It was about 3 a.m. Days later I ran into mom, who excoriated me for making noise all the time. I was dumbfounded (more than usual), inviting her by default to elaborate. Her daughter couldn't sleep and was missing school (or work, I forget) because of all of my damn noise keeping her up.

Still dumbfounded, we parted with me mumbling something about being sorry and not making noise anymore (remember, I was there on borrowed time). Then it dawned on me: daughter was staying out late, making out with guys, and mom knew nothing about it. When cornered about not being able to wake up in the morning, lack of sleep from the noisy upstairs neighbor became a convenient and believable explanation, assuming (as I did) mom was a heavy sleeper or hard of hearing (remember, she complained on behalf of her daughter, never herself).

We managed an uneasy truce, me and the old lady downstairs (I usually kill with old ladies), but she exacted some evil revenge on the day I moved out. She reported it to the landlord, who then was able to confront the legitimate tenant from whom I was subletting, blowing his cover.

Wait -- this wasn't all about Nicole? My bad.