Being unemployed and freaked out financially for ten months makes the cliche, "Waste Not, Want Not" ring in your ears like a full-blast alarm clock on a hungover Monday morning. I grew up poor, and never quite reached "independently wealthy" status, so I am not a waster by nature; but finding ways to maximize everything I have, even though it isn't much, can be tricky!
I've had leftover "Ham Chunks" in my freezer since December 14th. Leftovers from my post-graduation dinner the night before. "Ham Chunks" is what I wrote on the freezer bag, and it pretty much summed up the contents. I trimmed that ham bone... well... to the bone! So here I had a bag of ham chunks, delicious ham chunks, begging me to find them a purpose, every time I opened my freezer door.
SCALLOPED POTATOS AND HAM!
Bingo! Ah-hah! Eureka! An excellent use for these meager, but edible chunks of ham. I fired up the internet to find a recipe, simply for guidance, because I am not one that will willingly follow a recipe. The tricky part was finding a simple one. Simple meaning: I have the ingredients.
I TRIED to follow the recipe. For a minute. But, measuring the potatos to exactly 4 cups wasn't okay with me. I had to use each potato entirely, as not to waste, so I exceeded the 4 cups. Exceeding the 4 cups of potatos, surely means you have to exceed the amounts of everything else, and since I was adding my coveted "ham chunks," and some finely diced sharp cheddar cheese to the recipe, I decided to double the amounts of the other ingredients. Yeah, I could have spent a half an hour perfecting the exact equation to replicate the recipe per my altered main ingredient... but in my opinion, that takes the art out of cooking! And who says the shmuck that wrote the recipe has the only solution to tasty scalloped potatos? If that were the case, why the hell does Rachel Ray, Martha Stewart, and that southern woman whats-her-face have their own cooking shows? Why do cookbooks have their own section in Barnes and Nobles?
Anyway... I cooked up my potatoes, ham chunks, and sharp cheddar cheese; and as the aroma filled my kitchen, then dining room, and finally, the living room, the longing to devour them grew ever more intense! I had to wait one very, very long hour, before my golden-browned, cheesy, baked ham chunks and potatos could be consumed. My brother happened to call just moments after I removed them from the oven, kindly distracting me long enough to let them cool.
I ate two small bowls of them. So very delicious. I had to share!
Mother had brought over a pan of lasagna on Wednesday to celebrate my new job, and I had eaten all but the three big portions I sent her home with, despite her attempted refusal. What a literally warm surprise it would be for her to have a heaping bowl of hot scalloped potatos and ham delivered to her recliner!
I had just begun watching "48 Hours," and when the first commercial break came along, I rushed out the door in my unzipped snow boots with my steaming bowl of potatos, and keys to mom's house in hand. This is one of the many little joys of living next door to my mother. I can deliver her a tasty meal, without missing a minute of my television program of choice. In fact, I even had enough time to compliment her on her haircut before I left.
Shortly after returning home, she sent me a text that read, "DELICIOUS!"
"And you can't even taste the poison, can ya?" I replied.
We have a potentially disturbing on-going joke that anything either of us fixes for the other is poisoned. The joke used to be an "out" in the event that the food wasn't very tasty, or someone (me) hadn't followed the recipe, putting the deliciousness of the food at risk right from the start. But changing times, require even jokes to change, and now I claim she is poisoning me to get her paws on my "wealth" in these troubled economic times. When I first suggested this, she immediately said, "But you don't have any life insurance."
"That was kinda creepy, mom."
I've had leftover "Ham Chunks" in my freezer since December 14th. Leftovers from my post-graduation dinner the night before. "Ham Chunks" is what I wrote on the freezer bag, and it pretty much summed up the contents. I trimmed that ham bone... well... to the bone! So here I had a bag of ham chunks, delicious ham chunks, begging me to find them a purpose, every time I opened my freezer door.
SCALLOPED POTATOS AND HAM!
Bingo! Ah-hah! Eureka! An excellent use for these meager, but edible chunks of ham. I fired up the internet to find a recipe, simply for guidance, because I am not one that will willingly follow a recipe. The tricky part was finding a simple one. Simple meaning: I have the ingredients.
I TRIED to follow the recipe. For a minute. But, measuring the potatos to exactly 4 cups wasn't okay with me. I had to use each potato entirely, as not to waste, so I exceeded the 4 cups. Exceeding the 4 cups of potatos, surely means you have to exceed the amounts of everything else, and since I was adding my coveted "ham chunks," and some finely diced sharp cheddar cheese to the recipe, I decided to double the amounts of the other ingredients. Yeah, I could have spent a half an hour perfecting the exact equation to replicate the recipe per my altered main ingredient... but in my opinion, that takes the art out of cooking! And who says the shmuck that wrote the recipe has the only solution to tasty scalloped potatos? If that were the case, why the hell does Rachel Ray, Martha Stewart, and that southern woman whats-her-face have their own cooking shows? Why do cookbooks have their own section in Barnes and Nobles?
Anyway... I cooked up my potatoes, ham chunks, and sharp cheddar cheese; and as the aroma filled my kitchen, then dining room, and finally, the living room, the longing to devour them grew ever more intense! I had to wait one very, very long hour, before my golden-browned, cheesy, baked ham chunks and potatos could be consumed. My brother happened to call just moments after I removed them from the oven, kindly distracting me long enough to let them cool.
I ate two small bowls of them. So very delicious. I had to share!
Mother had brought over a pan of lasagna on Wednesday to celebrate my new job, and I had eaten all but the three big portions I sent her home with, despite her attempted refusal. What a literally warm surprise it would be for her to have a heaping bowl of hot scalloped potatos and ham delivered to her recliner!
I had just begun watching "48 Hours," and when the first commercial break came along, I rushed out the door in my unzipped snow boots with my steaming bowl of potatos, and keys to mom's house in hand. This is one of the many little joys of living next door to my mother. I can deliver her a tasty meal, without missing a minute of my television program of choice. In fact, I even had enough time to compliment her on her haircut before I left.
Shortly after returning home, she sent me a text that read, "DELICIOUS!"
"And you can't even taste the poison, can ya?" I replied.
We have a potentially disturbing on-going joke that anything either of us fixes for the other is poisoned. The joke used to be an "out" in the event that the food wasn't very tasty, or someone (me) hadn't followed the recipe, putting the deliciousness of the food at risk right from the start. But changing times, require even jokes to change, and now I claim she is poisoning me to get her paws on my "wealth" in these troubled economic times. When I first suggested this, she immediately said, "But you don't have any life insurance."
"That was kinda creepy, mom."
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