Since I have yet to master the whole cooking for one or two people thing (as opposed to cooking for an entire freaking army thing), I often find myself with leftovers. Like anyone with at least a few brain cells and semblance of a soul, I loathe wasting food, but I also admit that eating the same exact thing two or three days in a row is monotonous. So, I’m always looking for ways to turn my leftovers into something new! different! fancy!
In all forms. They’re my favorite carbohydrate, hands down. I spent the past week at my sister’s place near Lake Ontario, and after our dinner Wednesday night, I think I might be in love with poutine. Especially if it’s served with bacon-stout gravy.
One of my favorite dishes (or side dishes, really) is, and has always been, roasted potatoes. And I’m going to be completely honest with you: One of my absolute favorite things about being a grown up is the fact that, since I more or less control what’s for dinner, I can make roasted potatoes whenever the heck I want. I can make them every single day. I’ve been in charge of my own dinner for years and that fact still hasn’t gotten old.
As I settled into the kitchen to begin baking/mashing/blending/etc. for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving dinner, I realized I hadn’t eaten anything today. This would not do, as — despite my shameful eating habits — I couldn’t live with having brownie batter be my first meal of the day. Delicious as it may be, I have some standards.
I needed something filling. And I wanted to make something from scratch (which I don’t understand, since I was already undertaking the task of making cheesecake marbled brownies from scratch — no big deal.) So the usual suspects — potato chips, pasta sides and chicken fingers — were out of the question.
I looked in my pantry and was overwhelmed with cuteness: sitting at the edge of one shelf were a bag of cipolline onions and box of baby red potatoes. They were like tiny little puppies, beckoning me, all teensy and red and adorable. Gush.