Who cares what’s for dinner... just eat it

Tonight, I was tired… a little hungry… and really not into proving to the world that I could turn leftovers into a gourmet meal in thirty minutes. I’d spent the afternoon watching C span’s modern-day version of the Watergate hearings. If this rendition goes on as long as the 1973 version, then we may never eat again. (Stay with me. There is a correlation here.)

Don’t worry, I’m not going to get into the politics of the current investigation, although it will not come as a surprise to many of you that I do have an opinion on the situation. My point is that politics had nothing to do with how I felt this evening. Let’s remember, I’m old. I was young during the last political hearings… and I was off for the summer… and I had no children. My first child was born in 1976.

This afternoon, staying awake really wore me out. By the time the weatherman told us for the fifteenth time that it was hot outside and was going to get even hotter tomorrow with a cold front coming in next weekend when the high would be around 97, I was dozing on the couch.

My sweetheart, who napped on the bed for most of the afternoon, got up hungry just before Wheel of Fortune came on. I knew what was available. There was a cream cheese carton with one-fourth teaspoon of cream cheese in the bottom, a package of tamales, and some gravy and potatoes left over from last week. The gravy had a little shredded roast in the bottom of the Tupperware bowl, two new potatoes, and a layer of grease.

My inspiration was a new Netflix show where the contestants are given a few leftovers and a time limit to come up with something good. I was fresh out of lobster, French bread, and Gorgonzola cheese which the winner had turned into a dessert.

I could have had some tamales and watermelon, but it just didn’t sound right… heated together. Like I said, I was tired. I decided I would “punt.” I grabbed my credit card and headed to the grocery store deli.

It was late. The pickings were few… and dry. Since I expected my malaise to last longer than one evening, I got a bucket of chicken. Properly stored it will last several days. I opted for cream gravy which they had plenty of and some black-eyed peas which were swimming in some good-looking ooze.

The woman in charge was also tired. She’d spent the afternoon taking care of a water leak in the kitchen. I guess the “ooze” on the blackeyed peas was not appealing to a woman whose pants were wet up to her knees. My droopy eyes didn’t notice her draining the peas dry as she scooped them into a carton. I guess she decided we didn’t need the gravy since I didn’t order any mashed potatoes… so I saved some money.

I crawled from the car into the house like one of those old “dryguys” in the cartoons. I think the chicken was good. No one ate the peas, and we forgot the watermelon. I think we could have gotten by on a bowl of cereal and a banana, but if the hearings go on for fifty days or more, then I may have to buy more cereal or figure out how to make a sauce out of the black-eyed peas to go over the tamales.