Sal served leftovers for almost two weeks after Christmas. She didn’t let anyone know. The people eating around her table were under the impression that everything was a new dish for the day, and that’s the way she wanted to keep it. Sal could make chicken enchiladas out of turkey, casserole out of mashed potatoes and green beans, soup out of anything at all. But she could never figure out what to do with the leftover cranberries. Then one day she . . .
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Yes, the holidays were over and the leftovers in the freezer. Now several meals could be enjoyed from them and no one would suspect they were leftovers. The cranberries she would always put some in her favorite pumpkin bread. Just a nice added touch with the raisins and walnuts. Fresh cranberries were good this way also.
Added a dash of color when the bread was sliced.
He left the room to take a shower, throwing a careless “that was great” over his shoulder like a tip left for an anonymous waiter. She laid on the bed like leftovers from an indulgent feast left on the table in forgotten disarray. She felt picked over, little scraps of emotion hanging by tendrils, ragged with the careless knife of gluttony.
Tasty lovers
Before starting the week, he liked to know if fortune smiled. To do this, a portion of his day’s favourite meal was stored in a blue porcelain bowl; each with a favourite lover’s face. On Sunday, seven bowls were finger licked and judgement made by how many lovers still tasted