Knee-deep in her deep freeze

Allow me to introduce you to my freezers. I've got one in the kitchen and two in the basement. Each is full. And I am ashamed.

I'm ashamed because there are children starving in (fill in your culturally-acceptable geographic locale). And because much of what goes into my freezers doesn't come out — until years later, when my hoarfrosted "bargain"-priced pot roasts, "Two for One!" Draper Valley chicken breasts and "extra" Thanksgiving turkey carcasses get tossed in the trash.

Please forgive me for my flagrant disregard of perfectly good food. I never meant to have three freezers full of forgotten foodstuffs. Honest.

I could blame my wastefulness on the fact that I'm a frequent shopper who loves fresh food as much as I love a good bargain. Or claim that as a less than organized restaurant critic, my schedule often necessitates ditching home-dinner plans in favor of dining out. But instead I'll blame my husband.

You see, I married a practical man. And just before our wedding — a big barbecue held at our home nearly a decade ago, with mini-pies standing in for the wedding cake — he insisted we replace our old refrigerator, lest it conk out just as my out-of-town relatives were screaming "More pie! More ham!"

Anyway, off we went to the appliance store, in search of refrigeration. There I eyed the capacious, stainless-steel, fancy-kitchen models while Mr. Practical urged me, in no uncertain terms, to dream on, noting that the 32-inch space in our galley kitchen couldn't possibly accommodate the "ice box" of my dreams, as my grandmother would have called it.

So, in the name of economy — of scale and of pocketbook — we bought a basic white freezer-top version of the classic Frigidaire, then sprung for an equally uninspired upright freezer for the basement.

And that's when my freezer-filling frenzy began.

I froze party ice and pint glasses; sale-priced butter (sweet, unsalted and European-style); plastic bags full of fresh chiles and lime leaves (you never know when you're going to get a hankering for curry!); Bagel Oasis bagels (split for easy toasting!). And did I mention the bargain-priced meat?

Upstairs and down, my freezers are home to science experiments and gag gifts. There's a red glow-stick left over from Halloween (yes, son, it's still glowing) and a pound of extra-lean ground beef with a sell-by date of — gulp — November 1998. (How that one slipped through freezer purges past is a mystery to me.)

Crammed among the martini glasses, petite peas and ice cream novelties is a set of "Cool Jewels." That gem-shaped ice cube tray was a gift from my pal Joe. Downstairs, in the more spacious freezer — the one that houses most of the bargain meats, I found a gag gift of unfamiliar origin: desiccated fish heads that my husband swears I brought home from a girls-only fishing trip in 2002.

That doesn't sound so far-fetched since I remember that expedition, and since I like to make and freeze stock. Which explains the chicken wings stuffed into a Ziploc marked "CHIX WING FOR STOCK, 3/5/05." And the similar vintage date on the beef bones I'd planned to slow-roast for demi-glace. (Our dog is glad I didn't.)

Actually, the dog has her own freezer shelf: the one reserved for outdated meats I can't bear to throw away. Those are cooked up by our beloved dog-sitter, Ginny, who knows exactly where to look for New York steaks (11/4/03), center cut pork loin (10/22/04) and skinless boneless fryer breast (5/5/05). Is it any wonder the dog can't bother to get excited when we return home from summer vacation?

As if two full-up freezers weren't enough, a few years back our next-door-neighbor, Kathleen, was looking to off-load a slightly updated twin of our Frigidaire — for free! How could I say no? You don't know the thrill of replacing a broken refrigerator drawer with parts harvested from your very own basement. And imagine the joy of having room enough to chill two six-packs of beer, yesterday's Chinese food leftovers, a dozen lesser-used condiment jars and the whole 39-pound baby lamb (fresh from the butcher shop!) we spit-roasted Easter Sunday.

But as much as I love all that refrigerator space, I've come to loathe those freezers. Which is why, last week, with an extra-strength 30-gallon trash bag in hand, I decided to take, uh, inventory.

Good news! I found a couple quart bags of sour cherries left over from last summer's backyard harvest of our Montmorency trees. There's just enough to fill the crusts I made in February, using a bottom-crust pie recipe that calls for only one disk and says to "freeze the remaining three for future use." (You don't have to tell me twice.)

Hidden in the way-back — score! — was a pint of last season's foraged huckleberries from the Ballard Sunday Farmers Market. Those would taste great over homemade ice cream, which I could make, seeing as the canister for my Krups machine is always frozen. It's far more likely, though, that the berries will end up on Eggo toaster waffles, a freezer staple that actually does get used around here.

Ah-ha! There's that 2-pound package of Fletcher's bacon from Costco. The one I was referring to the other morning when my son asked if we had bacon to go with his waffles. To which I replied, "Of course we do! Too bad it's frozen."

While examining my inventory, I sadly tossed: one container of two-year-old homemade minestrone (thickened with saved Parmesan rinds); two containers of spicy vegetables marked "couscous" (it took hours to simmer that wintry wonder back in '04, and I wasn't about to throw the leftovers away — then); three-year-old goose fat from my friend Leslie's Christmas goose (for roasting potatoes); and a partridge in a pear tree.

Only kidding about the partridge. Actually it was cryovac'd chicken thighs, date-of-origin unknown.

But this much I do know: I'm done freezing meats. And leftovers. And all those ice cream novelties that didn't go over so well — the ones I try to pawn off on the neighbor kids. I'm going to unplug that upright, defrost my "no-frost" freezer-tops and get organized.

But first, I've got to find that mini-peach pie — the "anniversary cake-top" from our wedding barbecue. I know it's in there somewhere.

Nancy Leson: 206-464-8838 or nleson@seattletimes.com

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