of beef stew in January

Okay, so I'm poor this month, really poor. One way I decided to be frugal was to prepare big meals at the beginning of each week and live on the leftovers for the rest of the week. Nice thing about this is that is also cuts out lots o' cooking time. So, this week's plan was beef stew. For someone who's not really a cook, this is quite an undertaking. There's beef to brown, there're carrots and potatoes to peel, there's a dog to watch while beef is browning and grease is splattering. But I did it relatively successfully, ate it on Sunday night (Belly did get a tiny bowl full 'cuz she's so cute), packed the leftovers in a tupperware container and put it in the fridge.

Now, I know what you people are thinking. You're probably thinking that Belly somehow got her filthy little paws on the tupperware and ate it all up when I wasn't looking. Good guess, but no cigar.

This has to do with cats. Growing up, I always lived with at least one, usually two, cats. I loved the cats as much as a kid loves her pets, but one thing I could not stand about cats was, well, cat food. The wet kind that comes in cans. Every morning, that terrible smell would waft its way up to my delicate nose as I slept and I would roll over in disgust. I seem to remember that, when I was a teenager and what some might call "difficult," my mother just so happened to open that g.d. can of cat food right as I was taking the first bite of my Lucky Charms. Every morning. That smell was enough to make me gag. I begged my mother to wait to feed the cat until I was done. Sometimes she agreed, sometimes not.

So here I am on Monday night, all proud of myself for being so economical with my food rationing. Got the bowl out, got the spoon out, got the bread buttered. I'm ready. I open the lid of the tupperware and what wafts out at me but the smell of that g.d. cat food from my childhood. I tried not to gag. I pushed through it, though. I ate it (Belly had a small bowl again 'cuz she's still cute).

Tonight, on the phone with my mother, I tell her this story, making sure to highlight her role in all this. She says, "pooooor Amy." Exactly.

Tonight's dinner was chicken pot pie. And Belly had a small bowl of beef stew.