The Farmer hates Leftovers. He can spy one out a mile away. Soooo, after twenty-six years of this thing called marriage, I’ve learned to be creative. Because, I hate waste (almost) as much. Friday’s roasted chicken gets turned into Sunday’s chicken pot pie. Monday’s hamburgers get turned into Tuesday’s Tacos. And the Farmer has never suspected a thing. Now. Although the Farm is in New York (the state, not the city) we enjoy grits fairly often. Not the quick kind, either. No, we slowly simmer our grits in a bit of milk, salt and pepper, stirring all the while until it thickens and creams itself into something just a bit…