Pete and I play an exciting game. No, it doesn’t involve handcuffs. But it could. I guess. Anyway, it goes like this: Pete is talking about something, then says something out of the blue. The other day it was “That’s what I can do with the frozen flounder.”
Tata: Wait, what will you do with the frozen flounder?
Pete: Quesadillas. Red pepper. Sharp cheese.
The game is now ON.
Tata: When, my dear, can I eat that?
I love this game because the rules are so flexible.
Pete: Restaurants serve brunches to get rid of leftovers. That’s what they’re made of, you should avoid those.
Tata: I should? I didn’t realize!
Pete: Yep, I can’t tell you what I’ve put into a walk-in on Saturday night, knowing it was going out on the buffet Sunday morning.
Tata: You know, there’s no need to go to brunch. You could put brunch on a pizza.
Pete: I don’t know…
Tata: Sure, you could. Peppers, onion, turkey sausage, a layer of herbed ricotta on whole wheat crust, perhaps a post-oven drizzle of hollandaise. That’s breakfast, baby!
Pete: You’re glad I thought of it, smartypants?
Tata: Exactly: when can I eat that?
We have what can only be described as happy accidents. Pete made a turkey meatloaf. Everyone since Betty Crocker looks at those and thinks about ketchup. I thought about cranberries. So while I was leaving the meatloaf in the oven twenty minutes longer than Pete instructed, I put a sauce pan on the stove, minced a chipotle pepper and tossed in a tablespoon of the adobo sauce, and poured in some orange juice. They simmered with a healthy splash of balsamic vinegar and a mess o’ dried, sweetened cranberries. When, to our surprise, the tater tots needed another few minutes – dude, I’m old enough to vote twice, I can eat some tater tots now and then if I hanker for ’em – I added a little more orange juice. This reduced sauce, ladled coyly over really moist turkey meatloaf, made me jealous later that I wasn’t eating that.
I love this game.