Love at second bite

Cooking for the masses was once a chore. Now it brings a wealth of happiness to this columnist's heart.

- AMANDA BLAIR

When I die, I’ve told my family I want three simple words etched large on my headstone: “She LOVED leftovers”. Sure, I want my name, date of demise and perhaps a couple of words like “beloved mother” and “always missed” but the leftovers message needs to be front and centre.

Because I really do, and I want people to know it today and for generations to come.

Nothing pleases me more than opening my refrigerator to see containers filled with food that’s got a bit of age on it. Stews, casseroles, pasta dishes and risottos left to languish in cold climate conditions until I'm ready to whip them out and give them a quick zap in the microwave. It’s the stuff of culinary dreams. If I play my cards right, two good dishes made on a Sunday can get me through an entire week. Once, a tray of lasagne saw me through five nights straight. It was heaven.