MY MOTHER, A CHILD OF THE DEPRESSION, HATED WASTE. OUR ICE BOX, AS SHE CALLED IT, WAS A TREASURE TROVE OF PLASTIC CONTAINERS AND SARAN-WRAPPED PLATES. NOTHING GAVE MY MOTHER MORE SATISFACTION THAN CRAFTING A MEAL FROM L.O.S (LEFTOVERS). I DON’T SAVE SALAD OR SMALL HELPINGS OF PASTA OR UNEATEN FISH. BUT MORE OFTEN THAN NOT, EVEN THE HEARTIEST OF EATERS WON’T ENTIRELY DEVOUR A LEG OF LAMB OR PORK OR EVERY LAST PIECE OF CHICKEN. ROASTS ARE PARTICULARLY IRKSOME TO THE FRUGAL COOK. RE-HEATING OVERCOOKS THE MEAT AND HOW MANY LAMB SANDWICHES CAN YOU EAT IN A WEEK? CUT THAT LEFTOVER LAMB OR PORK IN CUBES, HOWEVER, COMBINE WITH SLOW-COOKED ONIONS AND MIDDLE-EASTERN SPICES, A FEW TABLESPOONS OF FLOUR TO THICKEN, WHITE WINE, A CUP OF STOCK ET VOILA! L.O. STEW. MY MOM WOULD BE PROUD.
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