Saturday, June 7, 2008

Spinach Muse

In considering what to make for dinner, I found a bag of spinach. This is a regular occurence; I make spinach a lot.

*Sauté a couple cloves of minced garlic in olive oil
*Add white wine (I prefer a crisp Pinot Gris or Sauvignon Blanc) and reduce somewhat
*Dump in a few handfuls (hands full, it cooks down a lot) and stir until wilted (if you've never seen spinach wilt, it's a very distinct look. Hard to miss. Stop cooking once it's wilted, or it starts to attain that overdone, regurgitated mash taste).
*Season with salt and pepper
*Liberally sprinkle with (preferably good shaved) Parmesan (but cheapo generic works, too).

This time, I was reminded of finding another spinach in another fridge almost a year and half ago. My roommate at the time wanted to create a really stupendous birthday meal for one of our other roommates. She went for crepes filled with spinach and shrimp, which wasn't bad at the first go (though I hate crepes). But then it made its way into a Glad container. Worse, it went to the back of the fridge. The fourth roommate and I found it two weeks later. You could smell it across the house as we opened it and deposited it into the trash. The hideousness of that stench overpowered even my frugality, and the Glad container followed the mess into the bin.

This is why I don't really believe in the concept of leftovers. They're like physical good intentions. You put the leftover lasagna into a container planning to come back to it the next day. But the next day it hasn't been long enough since you had lasagna, and you choose to eat something new and not in the pasta family, and so you put it off another day, which is fine. Or would be, if you didn't forget about it. Which you do, until three weeks later when you find it molding in a now health-hazordous container. The road to hell is paved with leftovers.

I mentioned that I hate crepes. I do. It's not for lack of trying, and after taking eight years of French, I really would love to have a refined taste for a good crepe. The same roommate who made the spinach and shrimp crepes later tried to convince me to go to a local crepe restaurant with her, and I declined, saying I wasn't so fond of crepes (and, though I didn't tell her, it was still too close to the Glad container incident for crepes to sound remotely appealing). That I found them a spongy and listeless food. She assured me that if I had enough good crepes, like hers, I would like them. I didn't have the heart to tell her that her crepes were like a gastronomic thesis on why I don't like crepes. I've accepted that I am unrefined when it comes to crepes. There are worse places to lack refinement.

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