The street is narrow, poorly lit, and foreign. Cobblestones poke into my thin-soled sandals. White sheets on clotheslines flutter like bat wings high above our heads. A shadowed man lumbers down the street. Black and white sidewalk tiles, arranged in strange, ancient patterns, point us forward to . . .  

. . . to the restaurant recommended by the guy at our hotel in Lisbon.

“If you want true Portuguese food, this is the place to go,” he says.

We walk into a small bar with three tables up against the wall. Five men at the bar are glued to the soccer game on the mounted TV. 

A loud cheer comes from the men as we enter.

The cheer is not for us. 

The server smiles and ushers us to one of the tables. Dione is his name.

After serving us Portuguese wine, Portuguese olives, and Portuguese cheese, Dione hesitates when we order a very traditional Portuguese main dish off the menu.

“Tourists generally do not like this dish,” he says.

Well, apparently he doesn’t get too many tourists from Iowa. 

Bacalhau com natas — or as we would say in Des Moines — Hash Brown Casserole. Yup, just a slight variation on the ever popular Tater Tot Casserole. Which is a slight variation on Tuna Noodle Casserole. Which ultimately leads to Macaroni and Cheese Casserole. In other words, this is HOME cooking.

I dig in and am transported back to grade school lunches in Iowa City, a gazillion years ago, where the lunch ladies in white hairnets served large portions of mashed potatoes mixed with any leftovers from yesterday’s meal. These delicacies were dished up in an ice cream scoop and plopped into the middle of a divided, plastic plate. 

Fine dining at its best.

So, Dione, what’s in this?

“Fried potatoes, coriander, eggs, leeks, cream, and cod.”

Of course.

Or as my mom would call it — leftovers mixed with potatoes. 

Okay, this restaurant, and many folks who follow casserole recipes, use only the freshest ingredients. I get it. The fresher the better. Right?

That seems a loss. 

Now follow me here, this is about old age, which you’ll grow into if you’re lucky. 

I want you to imagine your last family and friends holiday meal. Christmas, for example, if you are of that bent. In our home we make potatoes, gravy, turkey, stuffing, corn, beans, cranberry salad, and pie. It is a madhouse of labor. A labor of love to be sure. But it is truly hard work. 

The next day, I mix nearly everything into one pot and fry it up. Yup, a mashed-up mess. Easy peasy. 

What is it called? Delicious.

Is this turkey casserole better than the previous day meal? By a mile.

There you go.

So, are you following?

We all grow up. We are in relationships — or not. We have children — or not. We have work friends and school friends and church friends and gym friends and we are friends to the parents of our kids’ friends — or we aren’t.

And we get older. We get a bit dinged up and we do rehab to partially un-ding ourselves. People come into our lives and people leave our lives. We stay in our jobs and we leave our jobs. We become caretakers and we are taken care of. We wear out in subtle and not so subtle ways.

Yup, we become leftovers.

You can guess where I’m going here.

Just mix in a few potatoes and we are better than ever. We are the turkey casserole the day after Christmas. We are tater tot casserole with double the tater tots. We are mac and cheese with potato chips sprinkled on top. 

We are delicious.

Really?

Who knows. 

But I still love casseroles. 

Joe