Time for Vultures to Circle

In first grade I was told by a mustachioed nun to never let food go to waste because children were dying in Africa. Permanently imprinted in me, I have dogged my children all their lives to eat leftovers. It's usually me though, who pries the tops from faux Tupperware, mixes the dormant bacteria-laden food and then watches it "blend" in the microwave. Evan for some reason actually paid some attention to me and will eat cooked leftovers in a "raw" state (no sauces, garnish, or evidence that any other food has touched the surface). Evan recently left home and we heard he landed a spot on a friend's floor for the time being. Well, he's come over to watch football the last two Saturdays and we've allowed him to make Evan Nachos - simply chips with microwaved sizzled cheese over them. Last Saturday, I offered him Friday's steak and he was too full after his redneck fondue plate (nachos). He fell asleep at haftime, stayed that way -- on the floor -- for four hours and never ate the steak. Trouble is, Peg and Mai won't eat it and my doctor says it's too much cholesterol for me. So, tommorrow when he comes over for the football game, I've planned to give him the same steak (now going on 8 days old) but with a bottle of his favorite barbeque sauce on the side. It'll be just like the old days when he used to live here: a pond of Sweet Baby Ray's on the plate and a big chunk of meat stuck to a fork dangled over it, and Evan will be driving his teeth into the brown meat like an anxious preschooler attacking his first cotton candy.