Leftovers

Today was a day of leftovers. I began with leftover baked oatmeal from Chaps, with a handful of walnuts and a cup of coffee (Americano, double, hot, made in my little home espresso brewer with Chapsgirl Guatemalan coffee from local roaster, Bumper Crop). The oatmeal brought to mind my sociable breakfast last Friday, which was a welcome thought on a morning with some initial anxiety. (My month of freedom is nearly over, and I’m experiencing a few bumps during re-entry.) After a quick visit to Inlander HQ, I came back home to a lunch of leftover red lentils and zucchini with half a piece of whole-wheat naan (a kind of Indian flatbread kind of like pita, available locally at Rocket Market). I drank leftover jasmine tea, cold, with it. (I also tore up a leaf of lettuce and called it salad, then completed the meal with half a peach.) I grabbed a small snack of cheese and crackers before my 5:30 pm yoga class, then had leftover Greek chicken for dinner. (I’ll have to freeze the remainder; I invited friends over to share, but they were busy, sadly.)

I did make one thing new: sautéed zucchini, onion, garlic and Swiss chard (all from the Tolstoy CSA box), with a touch of oregano and a splash of white wine (Twin Vines’ vinho verde, same as landed in my glass). And, yes, the wine was leftover, too — I opened it sometime over the weekend, I think.

I got a phone call from Auntie Jean in Texas while I was sautéing. (I only sauté in the company of close friends and family.) She and my uncle Gordon are heading “up East” — aka, to our hometown of Reading, Massachusetts — for her 60^th high school reunion and staying for more than two weeks. She said she was letting me know where they’d be, just in case I needed to contact them. Although we try to stay in touch fairly regularly — say, every couple of months — we both know that at this point in our lives “just in case” is shorthand for “just in case somebody dies.”

Maybe she was remembering what difficulty I had finding her to notify her that my dad (her brother) had died back in 2001. (That was before she had a cell phone.) They were visiting Gordon’s son, whom I’ve never met, at his new home in New Mexico. Luckily, I know some of Jean’s friends in Dallas, so I called around until I found someone who knew where she was and could give me a phone number.

Now, Gordon’s 85 and is dealing with some medical issues, and Jean has her share of aches and pains. “Up East,” other older relatives aren’t doing well either. That whole cohort of people in my parents’ generation is slowly moving on.

After that conversation (and our coded phrases for the exigencies of aging), while eating my leftovers, I got to reflecting. Sometimes leftovers are better than the original meal — flavors have had time to mellow and blend, preparation is certainly easier, and warm memories of the meal’s first incarnation (assuming there are some) flow back.

Leftovers can be wistful, recalling better times; leftovers can be sad and lonely. In part, it depends on the character of the original meal. Soups and stews and casseroles — meals with richly varied complex flavors and textures—generally improve with age. Spices and other sharp flavors mellow; the edges soften and merge. On the other hand, a meal that depends on a single star ingredient is seldom as good when it’s reheated. The glory of a freshly grilled steak, say, fades when the blush is off the rose. And yet, if its character changes — slice up that steak nice and thin and toss it into some fresh salad greens — then it’ll make a nice second meal.

And so it is with aging, I think. A life that’s filled with flavor and texture is going to be still satisfying after the passage of time, as is a life that’s not afraid to make a change and add something new. But trying to re-create and relive the glory of the past is a mistake. Reheated steak can be tough to swallow. It’s all about knowing when to let go and how to savor what remains.