Gazing into the refrigerator, Hallie commented half to herself: "You and Dad – have become – small container people." Judging by her tone, I guessed it was some sort of revelation for her. Is there a class of mankind known as "small container people?" Is it something I need to confess?
"Small container people," I thought to myself. Yes, it's true. I probably have two dozen half- and one-cup refrigerator containers purchased since the nest became empty. And if I see a sale on small containers, I just might stock up again. It's probably not a bad thing, but it does signal a life change.
Say you have a family and you fix a big dish of lasagna. You serve it for dinner and you have a fourth to a third of it left over. You put it in your three-cup casserole and if it's still in the fridge the next day (meaning your teen-agers didn't eat it at midnight), you serve it for lunch and it's gone. But when you are two people alone, you have to think very carefully about portions. Do you want to eat lasagna at every meal for the next week? Should you make the big casserole and freeze smaller portions for future meals? Or should you simply make a half portion to begin with?
Another issue is the space in the refrigerator. This year I stocked the farm refrigerator with produce and dairy items even at the risk of spoilage. I was so tired of packing produce back and forth, which also took its toll. Produce just doesn't survive the packing process well. As a result I have less room in the refrigerator and will work things down to the smallest possible container. That dab of cottage cheese goes into a half-cup Rubbermaid container. Those three last eggs get stored in an old margarine container so that I can eliminate the box. The remaining orange juice might fit in a jar. Etc.
At any rate, there's just so much the two of you can eat, and yet you want to share good eats. KW
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