Some nights are made for rummaging. In my experience, rummaging yields something I’m more pleased with than if I’d had first pick at the farmers market, likely because the marriage of creativity and resourcefulness reminds me that doing what I do well is a lot more about thought and technique than it is supplies. When I interned in NYC one summer my oldest friends and I would play “pot chef”, in which everyone had to get viciously stoned and then rummage through the pantry to come up with the best dish they could muster. Sometimes a disaster (see: trying to drain pasta with the lid rather than a colander), it was nonetheless always a riot, and frankly we were probably too high to still possess the necessary discerning faculties to tell what was good vs. absurd albeit edible.
Regardless, tonight was one of those nights thanks to a wintry mix that has left my whip staring pitifully out at me from under a shell of ice. Not one to settle for a PB&J, I got to foraging in the fridge, the resulting blended soup leaving me happy enough to quickly jot down what I did with my fridge-foraging finds.