The Man

Workin’ the leftovers

Who had time to cook? I had presidential debates to watch. Well, just the one last night, but you know what I mean. I’d been slaving all day on a last minute story for The Man. The Man, however, was in a better place, thank god, so the whole thing went more like this:

The Man: We’d love you to do this story that you are uniquely qualified to write, would you do that for us in exchange for this small pile of cash?

Me: Why yes, I would, thank you for thinking of me.

[time passes]

The Man: This is great, thanks so much!

Me: You are very welcome.

I have to say, that’s about the level of drama I’m willing to deal with in professional relationships. Does it make good reading? No, not really. But I like how it doesn’t drive me insane and allows me to focus energies elsewhere, like into giant-ass needlepoint projects.

So anyway… back to dinner. It was a night of full-on freezer adoration. I went down to the freezer in the basement, rifling through the containers and bags, and pulled out some lemony lentils and spicy beef stew from an Ethiopian Feast I made in July. With an arugula salad (leaves from the farm box) and some sliced cucumber salad, we were all set. Oh yeah, plus the leftover butternut squash from the night before. Serious scrounging, yes. In a way it was a meal that was just working through what was in the house. In another way it was a tasty, nutritious dinner.

BTW, the cucumbers were “inspired” by this little number created by Jess over at Hogwash. Except I really didn’t have any of the key ingredients except the cucumbers. But still, I sliced them as thin as possible on a mandoline, which was step 1 of her recipe. Some day when champagne vinegar and chives grace my cupboards I will make that salad. Last night I just tossed them with a bit of oil and rice vinegar and plenty of salt. Boring but tasty. And cooling next to the stew.

The Man
beef
cooked it
cucumbers
freezer
leftovers
lentils

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Working for the man

Paul Feig, in Sunday’s New York Times Magazine’s profile of him, explained it perfectly in the pull quote pictured above. 

For me it went like this:

The Man (while waving wads of dirty cash in your face): Can you do this thing for which we feel you are totally and uniquely qualified? We love everything you do like this. Please, will you do it? 

Me: You’re right, I AM uniquely qualified. Plus, I like cash.

The Man: How do you, who are so uniquely qualified, see this working best?

Me: I see it being X, Y, and Z because it seems like everything like this is A, B, and C. A is okay, but it’s obvious, and B and C are just plain untrue.

The Man: So true. That sounds great. You do X and Y and Z. X, Y and Z! That’s genius! (pause) One thing, it seems like we can’t include H.

Me: That’s okay. How about L?

The Man: No, L won’t work either.

Me: Okay, we could use M instead.

The Man: That’s fabulous! Other letters might be okay too, if M doesn’t work. But no P. Absolutely no P.

[time passes...]

The Man: We don’t like Z. It’s all zig-zagging. The lines go this way and that way and they make a…

Me: A Z?

The Man: Exactly! And Y is made out of two lines joined in a V with a line at the bottom.

Me: But that’s what a Y is… is X okay?

The Man: Well, it’s… it’s two lines that just sort of cross and make an…

Me: An X?

The Man: Right. But we think we can work with it. We’re going to pull them apart a bit and stick something in the middle, across, and then it wil be more like an…

Me: An A.

The Man: Yeah, that’s going to work just fine.

Me: So you don’t want X, Y, and Z?

The Man: We’re thinking maybe A, B, and C would be better.

(silence)

The Man: And M isn’t working. How about H?

Me: uh, huh

The Man: And where’s P? Why isn’t there any P?

 

I then made a vow to construct a new life in which when The Man calls I say no, or hang up, or don’t even answer. Maybe in this new fantasy life The Man doesn’t even have my number.  

So we ate that soup above for dinner last night. We actually ate several different versions of that soup–with me grilling my beleaguered dashing husband and jet-lagged broken-armed son about which version was creamier and thicker and more “indulgent” and better coated their poor hungry mouths and whether they could taste the tofu or pears or crack or whatever I put in there.

The Man
cooked it
soup

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