I take home food from dinner all the time. I love leftovers. Styrofoam in the fridge means that I don't have to cook. It also ensures no dishwashing, and that the price of dinner last night just went down 50%. Ultimately, it signifies that I am not wasting food and then I can feel good about myself. Most restaurants simply serve more food than I can eat in one meal.
Our lovely hostess in London, Lottie, was a bit embarrassed, I think, by this predilection of mine. She kept saying, "it's just not done here!" But I figured that my "transatlantic twang" would excuse, or at least explain, my hideous lack of manners and class. She insisted that the pubs would not have a way to pack up the food. I kept asking, and they had containers. When we left, she probably had at least three meals sitting in her fridge, i wonder if she ate them.
On the road, leftovers usually have to be just left. I couldn't drag my leftover Red Lobster mahi mahi from Easter Sunday in Dothan, Alabama, onto the plane along with the 4x5 camera, two digital cameras and a suitcase full of hard drives and film that I want hand-checked, lemon beurre sauce dribbling out of a styrofoam container held askew. But tonight we enjoyed a cheese plate at 5280 Lounge at Denver International. The cheese was yummy and there was too much remaining. Kevin laughed at me as I asked, but the waitress said, "Sure!" and brought over some plastic. He pulled the two roller cases while I wore his 5d backpack and held onto both my personal case/camera bag and the precious cheese package as I sashayed over to gate B95.
We were, after all, flying into the small town of Redmond, Oregon, arriving at 9pm. My hunch proved correct. There was no food to be had other than that tumorous mass, McKFTachoHellosis. The brie tasted just fine, three hours later.
© 2011 bridget batch
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