Lunch Time

I'm not much of a cook really. Salt is my favorite spice. But in spite of my limited skills I've been making a pot of Sunday beans that the cute guy and I scuffle over the next number of days for the remains.

I start with Rancho Gordo vaquero or pinto beans, saute onions, throw in garlic, a nub of ginger. This week I added celery and fennel, dried thyme from the yard. Then frozen slow roasted tomatillos and jalapenos from the summer stash. Co-workers two step around me in the kitchen at noon with my hot bowl of leftovers. "Smells good," they say.

The trumpet player praises the vegetarian soup in her hand from down the street. "Do you reuse that container?" I ask. "That's like something you would actually buy to store food in." We've worked together a long time and I practically grab it from her. She points to the stamp approving microwave use on the clear lid. The plastic bowl is heavy, black. Nearly designer.

"Why don't you wash it and use it the next time." She looks at me sideways and leaves.

Another co-worker comes in.

"Are you going to throw that away?" I blurt out. It's a huge clear plastic salad container with a lid from the organic place two blocks away. A dinosaur could fit in the damn thing.

"Recycle," she says.

"I used to take them back for my salad the next time," I offer. She returns to her office with container in hand. I keep eating my beans.

Which were originally wrapped in plastic too. And like the soup and salad containers likely did, went straight into the landfill after a single use.

There's got to be a better way to do this grown up fast city lunch thing. And preferably it doesn't involve me sharing my beans. At least not every day.