You can tell the groceries are approaching a dramatic terminus when the freezer becomes a desolate tundra of complicated and unappealing stalwarts. Tamalehawk begins the arduous endeavor of defrosting the long-neglected selections wrapped in unmarked foil and stashed sideways in random arctic alcoves.
He doesn't know what this is. There is Italian sausage, retrieved from antiquity, compiled with a melange of remaining regulars including artichokes, olives, garlic, anchovies, olive oil, tomato sauce. The key here is making something that reaps the meager harvest in a palatable way while yielding lunch leftovers. A mild triumph in those respects, Tamalehawk can't help but long for a bountiful future.
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