To my great embarrassment, I’m a bit of a goody-two-shoes rule follower. In fact, I like rules so much, the ones that exist in daily life aren’t quite enough; I like to make up self-imposed rules too. Now, I realize this might sound a little OCD, but take my word for it: as a freelance writer, rules are good. For one, they give my otherwise potentially blank, very malleable days an orderliness that keeps my editors from running me up a flag pole. Plus, little rules—such as always hanging my house keys in the same place—prevent me from collapsing in a frothing pile of hysteria when I can’t locate them to save my life. So, see? Rules are good.
What I want to talk about today, though, is my newest addition to Amy’s Rules for an Orderly, Content Life: Don’t shop unless you absolutely have to. This, of course, applies to everything, but for our purposes today, let’s confine ourselves to the kitchen. I noticed a while back that even though my cupboards were far from bare, I was running off to the market and spending oodles of money week after week when, it appeared, I didn’t really need to. What I needed to do was, as little red-shoed Dorothy says, seek contentment in my own backyard. Or in this case, my freezer, fridge, or pantry. One night this week, I was poised to run out to the store to pick up some things for dinner, I thought of the book The Tight Budget Cookbook—a great guide to frugal cooking. If this book can pinpoint delicious, nurtitious recipes—all contributed by Nutrition Educators—for as little as 4 cents per serving, I could certainly attempt to salvage a meal from my fridge, freezer, and cupboards instead of instantly running out to buy more ingredients.
That's when it hit me: In the freezer, there was a nice portion of chicken stock I’d made a month ago. A shrugged off my purse and turned to the fridge. Whipping open the crisper drawer, I was faced with a problem I’d been avoiding—multiple bags of organic carrots, and no plan for them. I could ignore them no longer. I snatched up two bags, some ginger that had been sitting underneath them, four tomatoes that would surely not last more than a day or two more, a less-than-half-full half-pint of heavy cream, and the chicken stock from the freezer. I grabbed an onion, two cloves of garlic, and some dried Chimayo chili powder a friend had brought back from New Mexico for me.
While I defrosted the stock in the microwave, I chopped up my onions, garlic, and ginger and sautéed them in the medium-sized Dutch oven I use for sauces and soups. I peeled all the carrots, trimmed off the ends, and cut them into 2-inch sized pieces, and then seeded and chopped the tomatoes—and into the pot it all went. Then came the defrosted stock and a quarter-size amount of kosher salt. I let it all simmer for about 40 minutes, used a hand wand to puree it into a nice, medium-thick, smooth consistency, added the little bit of heavy cream (which I felt less guilty about eating than I would have about throwing it away), and a few pinches of the Chimayo chili. I turned the heat down to its lowest point, and then sliced in half and buttered a going-stale, partially eaten loaf of Italian bread from the day before, which I tossed in the oven. While it heated, I made a salad from a half head of Romaine, random radishes, and leftover feta cheese. Not only was this whole exercise in waste-not, want-not super fast, but it solved my carrot conundrum, and then some. Did I feel just a little bit goody-two-shoes smug as my husband and I dipped buttery pieces of warm bread into our slightly spicy, fragrant, pretty bowls of soup that I’d cobbled together from my on-hand resources? I’m not sure; I haven’t made up a rule for that yet.
Recommended Reading: These books are excellent resources for one-pot meal ideas using ingredients already in the house:
New England Soup Factory Cookbook
