The Loaded Plates

On Saturday, Benjamin and I went to my cousin's baptism. My mom wanted to take us, along with my brother Jon, to Olive Garden for dinner while we were in town. I talked to Ben and Jon about the plan while we ate outside, making sure it was okay. Then I called my mother while the boys both disappeared into the house. 

"Hey mom," I said. "Do you still want to go to Olive Garden?" 

"Can Jon make it?" She asked. 

"Yeah, he says he doesn't have other plans." 

"What time would we be going?" My mom went to bed pretty early. I checked my iPod; it was a little before four. 

"We're leaving in just a minute, and then we can go. Does that work for you?" 

"Yeah, we'll see you in a bit." 

Just as I was hanging up the phone, Ben was coming out of the house, carrying a plate loaded with food. I gave him a look. 

"What?" he asked, popping a strawberry into his mouth. 

I gave him another look. "Did you know we're going to Olive Garden after this?

"Yep," he said, "I remember you saying something about going Olive Garden." He picked up a piece of watermelon and put it in his mouth. I rolled my eyes.

That's when I saw Jon coming towards us, also carrying a plate. It was loaded with chicken salad. 

I sighed. "I give up." 

Rations

I have to admit, I don't know a ton about cooking, but what little I do know, I learned from my mom. And my mom was an expert at cooking so that we would be able to make another meal of it. Naturally, then, when I got home from my last grocery shopping trip, I cut up and froze the chicken I had bought. I put three pieces in each bag, two to eat right then and one to put in the fridge for later.

One night, Ben and I got out the chicken and cut it up into little pieces. Ben then cooked it in just a little bit of oil over the stove. That's our favorite way to eat chicken. When he was finished, we put some of it into a casserole I was making. Then Ben started eating it straight out of the pan with a fork.

"What are you doing?" I asked, glancing at him while I scooped the casserole into a pan.

"Eating chicken," he said. I, of course, had already deduced this. When I had asked him what he was doing, what I really meant was, I don't actually want you to do what you are currently doing.

"Okay," I said, compromising. "Just don't eat all of it."

"I'll save some for you," he said.

"Okay," I agreed. "But I also want to put some of it in the fridge for later."

"Why?"

"Leftovers," I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Leftovers?" He asked, shaking his head. "That isn't leftovers. It's rations."

I laughed. "Yes huh. I put extra chicken in the bag for that exact purpose."

"Charly," he said, putting on his most serious face. "Leftovers is when you eat all you want and whatever is leftover you put in the fridge. This is rations."

"Benjamin!" I said exasperatedly. I was mostly joking. "I just want to save some chicken for another meal." I started towards the pan with a container in hand. Benjamin was still standing next to it, a piece of chicken stabbed onto his fork. He grabbed the handle of the pan and started moving away from me. I followed him and we started moving more quickly around the island counter top.

"Benjamin," I said again, my tone less of a joke now. "If we put this in the fridge, then we can eat it tomorrow, or I can put it in something else."

"Charly, do you know how much protein I need?" he asked.

I faltered. "No."

"A lot. Besides, look at this chicken. There isn't even enough left to make it worth saving."

"Thanks to you," I pointed out with a laugh. He shrugged, giving me his I-just-won-and-I-know-it face. I rolled my eyes.

"Fine," I set the container on the counter and stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork.

"Trying to put me on rations," Benjamin said, shaking his head as he set the pan back down.

"Benjamin!" I said again. He grinned at me as I popped a piece of chicken into my mouth.