Come on down!
It is time to play Name That Dish!
The rules are simple. Open the freezer and choose any freezer bag filled with food. Put it on the counter, and, without opening it, name that dish.
I used to dream of being able to spend my entire day reading. Like most people, whenever I start reading anything, I am interrupted by the telephone, visitors at the door, or, if I am out in public, someone at the next table who wants to know where to find the best deep-dish Chicago (redundant though that might be) pizza in Melaque.
I have discovered that I would be a lousy prisoner. Even without interruptions, I have been burning out on reading. I have noticed that phenomenon recently while sitting in airport lounges waiting for connecting flights. I can stay focused on my reading for only so long.
It happened this morning. I read today's newspaper, scanned two articles in National Review, and reviewed the Economic and Financial Indicators chart in The Economist. What finally broke the reader's back was one last Facebook post of moral smugness on -- well, does it really matter which topic?
I closed my electronic devices and headed over to the kitchen to see what I wanted for lunch. I had bought some potatoes in the morning to prepare Bombay potatoes to accompany the beef dish I made yesterday. The combination struck be as a bit oxymoronic. But that could wait until dinner.
We have been running low on fresh produce in the house. I have made several trips to our local markets, but the produce on offer is certainly not fresh. So, I took an alternative path.
When I make too much of one dish or another, which I do frequently, I am faced with the same choices every cook has: 1) toss it out, or 2) freeze it. Some dishes are donated to the neighbor's dog. But most end up being bagged in individual portions and frozen.
I point "individual portions" because it is the sole piece of my own advice on freezing leftovers that I regularly follow.
Home-made frozen dinners are far superior to anything your good friend Marie Callender will sell you -- if for no other reason than the fact that cooks know how to cook for themselves. Marie is not you.
But Marie Callender's products have an advantage over most of our home-made frozen dinners. They come in a box. With a pull date.
And so should the bags in my freezer. I have written essays in the past about freezing techniques. I have three basic packaging rules. 1) Freeze in individual portions. 2) Label the bag with its contents. 3) Label the bag with the date you put it in the freezer. (I had a friend who took me literally on that last point. She wrote "Monday" on the bag. And, yes, she was a lawyer.)
All of those are good ideas. But when we "bag-and-freeze," we are often in a hurry. I know I am. A successful operation is when I do not pour the whole concoction into a 2.5 gallon bag and have done with it.
Sure enough. None of the bags in my freezer are labeled. I did find three bags of Thai red curry that I had frozen up from a five-gallon bucket of the stuff. On its own, that would not be a good lunch.
Then, there were two layers of multi-colored something-or-others that undoubtedly had been semi-liquids at one point. One might have been a Mexican pasta sauce I made -- I guess I really don't know when. Or a soup. Or maybe a pork stir-fry. (Though I doubt that. Stir-fry is one of the worst foods to freeze -- as any consumer of a Stouffer's Hunan Chicken dinner will tell you.)
So, out on the counter it went to thaw. One of these days, I am going to try to figure out the contradictory physics of why the ice in a drink melts in five seconds when left on the counter while my Temple of Doom dish will still be frozen when the sun goes down.
If you cannot join me this afternoon playing this little game, it is perfect for The Self-Isolated.
Go to your freezer and play along at home. After all, the proof of the pudding is in the eating.
Or you could start pursuing those Economic and Financial Indicators charts in The Economist. It is your choice.
As Dr. Nick would say: "What a country!"
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