There is no question, I am preoccupied with food. Some people focus their minds by going through a stack of papers to be filed, or looking through photos as they add them to the album. I focus my mind by rummaging around my pantry shelves, placing all the rolled up bags, bits of this and tidbits of that, on the counter and then returning to the shelves to see if I have something else to serve as the perfect vehicle for these accents. Perhaps it is my interest in Feng Shui, perhaps my aversion to seeing food wasted, but the joy and self-righteousness I feel in giving old food new life is incredibly satisfying and leaves me feeling squeaky-clean.

Towards the end of the year, I start looking through my refrigerator and pantry and take stock of all the jars and bags of food I have been moving around month after month. I begin thinking about all the things I could make with them, so that I might keep it a little longer but would be more apt to use it. One Sunday morning before the holidays I get up, pull the French canning jars off the top shelf, and begin the transformation; Dijon, stone ground, and red wine mustards become the base for a Honey Mustard Dipping Sauce, mounds of olives - green or black, small or meaty - are pitted and chopped into Tapenade, and boxes of rock salt, covered with a thin layer of dust, are poured into a large stainless mixing bowl where whatever dried herbs I have around are added to become Herbe de Provence Roasting Salt or Lemon Verbena Bath Salts. Voila holiday gifts for workmates and relatives are taken care of.  I don't reserve this habit only for the end of the year, however, as I also practice it on an on-going, subtler basis, January through December, (otherwise, I wouldn't be able to fit anything in my pantry for all the half empty jars!).

It involves popping the lid on all the Tupperware in the refrigerator every few days and incorporating the contents into dinner that night, or adding it to the stockpot with whatever leftover bones I have after dinner, or tossing with a few greens the next day and bringing them to lunch as a salad. On the days I get a haul of fresh produce, I remove everything from the fruit bowl and vegetable drawer and decide whether I will use it, as it is, in the next 24 hours or whether it warrants preserving in some manner.

My schedule is crazy on some days and impossible on others, so I try and prep a lot of what I buy the day it comes into the house. For instance, when I find big beautiful red beets at the market, I get them home, remove the greens and scrub the beets. If the greens are fresh and tender, I wash them well and dry them in a lettuce spinner, and they are added to whatever vegetables I sauté that evening. If they are old and limp, they are compost. I roast the beets while I putter about in the kitchen preparing the rest of that night's meal. Once the beets are tender, I remove them from the oven and set them aside to cool while we eat dinner. During kitchen clean up I throw the beets, skin on, in an airtight plastic container and store them in the refrigerator so I can add them to salads over the next day or two. If they are still around at the end of the week, I toss them with vinegar, salt, sugar, and spices - voila - pickled beets and I've bought myself a few more days.

It's all about habit, and not letting things go forgotten for too long. I equate my routine of examining the contents of my kitchen shelves to physical exercise or meditation. The more you do it the easier it becomes. But if you go too long between sessions, it is hard to get the ball rolling again.