the spinach

One of the things I hate the most is food going to waste. It is a twofold problem [which is so much worse, twice as bad if you will, than a one-fold problem]: Not only are you just throwing money away, but you're also throwing away good foods. It drives me bonkers. And yet, it is a problem I find myself dealing with entirely too often. Sigh. 

The two most common culprits are potatoes and leftovers. Potatoes often get overlooked because our place for storing potatoes is... not particularly intuitive. Leftovers get passed by until it's too late because, with seven people, having enough of a certain leftover to make a meal for everyone is tricky. Usually a one person amount is left and then... forgotten. 

The classic "bought it and forgot it" item, however, is probably produce. Since produce is so expensive I really try to not let those lovely things go to waste. It still happens sometimes though, and that is when I get the most bothered and feel the most ashamed [which sounds silly, but humans are silly]. 

So, onto the spinach. 

I found a beautiful thing of spinach at Costco. It was probably $5 or $6, nothing outrageous but still considered a little splurge-y since it's not a regular staple purchase. And what made it a little more excessive is that I would really be the only one who wanted it. I am not a spinach person, but I do like it in scrambled eggs and tossing it into soups and onto pizzas. The trick to it not going bad before you can get through it is to freeze it. As long as you don't want to use the spinach for salads [ew], freezing it works beautifully.

Now, the best thing to do is freeze it immediately upon getting it home. And the worst thing to do is tell yourself, "I'll freeze it a little later." Obviously, if I did the best thing, I would not be writing about it. So yes, I did the worst thing. Day after day passed of me reminding myself that I needed to freeze the spinach and day after day passed of me telling myself I'd do it a little bit later. Before I knew it, a week and a half had passed, maybe two weeks. I knew then that my window of opportunity had passed, but when I looked in the fridge, the spinach still looked good. It was a Christmas miracle.

Knowing I had been gifted a wonderful second chance, I got right down to the task of bagging the spinach for freezing. But as soon as I had grabbed a handful of the seemingly still fresh spinach, I knew I had been deceived. Yes, somehow the very outer layer of spinach (around the ENTIRE container) had not succumbed to the soggy, smelly, old spinach state, but every leaf hidden inside had. My disgust was great, but the disappointment and shame at my irresponsibility was greater. I woefully tossed the entire thing in the trash and hoped the smell of it would not attract attention. 

And this is where things get silly. 

I didn't tell Jason I had had to toss the spinach. Now, it's pretty normal for people to not go broadcasting all the shameful things they do to others, but it's very much not normal for me to not spew all the things to Jason at his earliest convenience, shameful or otherwise. So clearly I was feeling extra bad about this spinach fiasco, but I pushed it and the slight feeling of deception about it out of my mind and went on with my life. 

You'd think that would be the end of the matter. The trash was eventually taken out. The spinach was gone forever. There were fresh new foods in the fridge to use up before they spoiled. Life happily chugged along. The spinach was no longer a problem. 

Except for the nightmares. 

It absolutely sounds like a joke, but over the next week and a half I had not one, not two, not three, but FOUR separate dreams where the spinach made an appearance and I had to keep shamefully throwing it out and deliberately choosing over and over to not tell Jason about it. It was absolutely ridiculous. 

So, after realizing how crazy my brain was going to be about all of this and how, at least subconsciously, guilty I must be feeling about not telling Jason about it, I immediately told him all the things. He laughed at me. And the dreams stopped. 

Goodbye, spinach. You will not be missed.