To Go

Certain members of my family, who shall remain nameless, opine getting a doggy bag – asking your server to put leftover food in a bag you can then take home – is unthinkable.

Certain other members of my family think not doing so is a waste, and waste is a capital sin. I belong in this latter waste phobic category. I believe having the ability to request a box to take home what you left on your plate is one of the many things that make this country great.

If your plate is heaped with food and you’re taught, as I was, to finish what’s on it, you eat every scrap in a frantic attempt to banish the thought of them (God forbid) throwing it out. If you know you can take it home, you relax and enjoy the meal at leisure. Twice.

And this is what happened after our memorable Thanksgiving lunch. Not only did we have a celebration worthy of an annotation in our personal history book, but also we got to be grateful again, and enjoy it again at dinner the next day. (Minus the dessert. For one thing, there was nothing left to bring home, and for another, I’m valiantly back on the no sugar wagon.)

Long live leftovers!