To Thine Own Self, Be Food

Standard American refrigerators have many shelves and compartments and drawers.  Because we like keeping our milk separate from our apples and our soy sauce separate from our blue cheese crumbles. Fair enough. My refrigerator has this small drawer positioned just underneath the top shelf (where I keep the milks, the Gatorades, and the wines/beers).  This little tucked-away compartment is labeled "Fresh-Lok Meat Keeper". Two things. I don't like how they spelled Lock.  You're insulting my intelligence, Frigidaire. And, I keep everything BUT meat in that drawer.  At present, there's a bunch of string cheese, a huge knob of fresh ginger, a bag of shredded mozzarella, a wrapped stack of Havarti cheese, a tub of blue cheese crumbles... It would appear we adore cheese more than meat in this household.  Excellent. All right, all right, there was a package of Black Forest ham in that drawer as well.  But, tonight was the night to clean out the Fresh-Lok...and h

I am going to say it right now. I have a terrible memory.  Really.  My dad, on the other hand, says he can remember things happening around him when he was a toddler.  He's the one we always ask stuff like: Remember that time we went to Yellowstone?  What year was that?  And who was it that puked and had diarrhea all the way home (answer: That was your brother.)? Good old Dad.  Remembers everything.  Mostly. I don't need ancestry.com or 23AndMe to know that I didn't inherit that gene from him. Recently, I found a wrapped circle of dough in my freezer that I'd labeled "Pâte Sucrée".  Okay, cool, right?  Because it's Labor Day weekend and I actually have time to do something with it.  The funny thing, though?  I'd dated the dough disk August 12, 2017.  Roughly three weeks ago, then, I'd made two batches of the sweet dough, used one for something, and froze the other half (unearthed today). But I could NOT remember what I had used that other