Recycling leftovers

One thing I learned at my mother's knee:  Don't waste food!  My mom went through the depression, so she knew what it was like to save every bite that was left from one meal in hopes it would help fill out the next one.  Unlike many of the things she taught me, this was a lesson that stuck for life:  Don't waste food!

One of the advantages of being the cook of the household is that you get to make anything you want.  Cliff isn't picky, so as long as I don't serve him oyster soup, yogurt, or turnips (about the only things he hates), he's happy.  However, sometimes I get a hankerin' for something while there are still leftovers in the refrigerator that need to be consumed.  Right now there's one serving of broccoli-cheese soup left from yesterday, half a breast of a Costco chicken bought on Friday I planned to eat yesterday (easily enough for a main course for the two of us) until I got a hankerin' for brocolli-cheese soup), and one serving of chicken jambalaya (made from part of the Costco bird).  I figure Cliff or I will eat the jambalaya this evening.  Or the broccoli soup... or maybe we'll toss a coin tomorrow and see who gets the soup and who gets the jambalaya.  I put the chicken breast in the freezer, but one day this week it will become chicken salad for sandwiches.  And then I started peeling potatoes for potato soup (my hankerin' for today).

I've made broccoli-cheese soup twice before, using different recipes, but yesterday I just looked at a couple of recipes for suggestions and played it by ear.  It was by far the best I've made.  Both recipes called for chicken broth, so I pressure-cooked a couple of Costo chicken skeletons I had in the freezer to make the broth.  We don't throw away poultry bones in this house. 

This morning I found myself dreaming about breakfast buffets, Golden Corral's in particular.  I think the reason I'm always day-dreaming about breakfast buffets is the idea that you can have all the good breakfast items in one meal.  Let's face it, there's nothing they can serve for breakfast that I can't make at home.  But it make no sense for me to make waffles, bacon, sausage, pancakes, eggs, cinnamon rolls, gravy, etc. etc., for just two people.  We can only eat so much!  And to be truthful, what I really want the most in that lineup is scrambled eggs with cheese sauce poured over them.  So what I need to do, rather than make Cliff take me to breakfast thirty miles away, is make some cheese sauce, scramble some eggs, and pour the sauce over the eggs.  I can't even do justice to a buffet any more, try as I might.  By the way, I still haven't lost my holiday pounds, speaking of buffets and other downfalls. 

So what did we have for breakfast?  Something that is so very simple and cheap, I often forget it exists:  French toast!  One of the best ways to use bread that's too dry, although I'd say bread pudding is the VERY best way to use old bread... not that either of those options is going to help me lose my holiday poundage.  

Cliff and I had our great-granddaughter, Amara, here for a few hours yesterday.  She and Gabe are pretty good buddies:  He was always a bit of a problem with Cora when I watched her, because she is so energetic she runs everywhere she goes.  Gabe fed on that energy and at first would go running after her biting at her clothes and sometimes tearing them!  Finally, he figured out if he picked up a dog toy or something to keep in his mouth while he chased her, he would have to refrain from biting her and thus, stay out of trouble.  Amara toddles slowly, as any toddler should.  Once Cora began walking, she thought she was Andy Granatelli and couldn't waste time moving at a snail's pace.  While I'm talking about Cora, I might mention she is no relation to us.  I believe one of my readers commented, calling her my granddaughter.  She feels like family to us, after having her here from the age of two months until she was five years old, but I just happened to be the lucky one who got to babysit that little talking tornado.

Now, here's Amara.  You will be surprised at how well she took a beating from my dog.