Did you touch my leftovers?

I love leftovers. What could be better than having your favorite meal again and again and again…even if that last time it looks a little questionable? I just whipped up a stockpot of chili, made hastily during halftime, and am already looking forward to having it again tomorrow. Thanksgiving leftovers may be the most sought after Tupperware container in the fridge, but I don’t go in for turkey sandwiches and soup, preferring instead a good old recreation of the traditional dinner with a little turkey, stuffing and vegetables.

But this Thanksgiving weekend, the leftovers I was craving didn’t involve a turkey or sweet potatoes or cranberry sauce.  They came from a surprise visit to my favorite restaurant in Providence: Al Forno. I will assume you haven’t been there and so sum up the experience in one word: yum. The blissful dish included ribbons of pappardelle and diced chicken in a light sauce of chicken stock and tomato tinged orange by carrot juice. Hello, flavor. Despite desperately wanting to finish it, I wisely stopped eating two-thirds of the way in to better appreciate dessert. A good idea really, because the chocolate bread pudding was invitingly soft inside with a crisp crust on top, the perfect marriage.  

When my leftover pasta arrived with the check, it was a joyous reunion. I meditated on the thought of enjoying it again the next night. Upon arriving home, I had visions of mi amor seeking it out in the middle of the night, leaving me pappardelle-less and looking for a blunt object. I resisted the urge to hide it under a lettuce leaf, but I worried. And OK, I might have checked on it at breakfast.

I had nothing to fear. He knew how much I was looking forward to it, and knew that his life might be in danger had he sneaked a bite. In fact, his words were something to the effect of, “I would have just packed a bag and left you the apartment.” I’m not sure if it was the demonic look in my eyes or my sleeping with a fork that kept his taste buds at bay, but it worked. We shared it for dinner (I’m not that mean) though I clearly had the larger portion. In the end, no one got hurt.


One thought on “Did you touch my leftovers?

  1. A good man will never touch the doggy bag of his beloved. Kids are a different story. They will cause any decent restaurant leftover to disappear before the rightful owner has a chance to claim it. The remains of yesterday’s casserole, however, elicit cries of “You’re trying to poison me.”

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