creative savv

Use It Up: Thrifty Uses for Leftovers Through the Decades

2026-08-14T04:00:00.000-07:00

image: National Archives of the Netherlands on Unsplash

We all know the specific, unglamorous ritual of staring into the refrigerator at 5:00 PM, playing a game of culinary Tetris with a few mismatched glass containers. Whether it’s half a breast of roast chicken, a lone scoop of cooked rice, or cup of last night's cooked veggies, dealing with leftovers is a universal rhythm of running a kitchen. Most of the time, we view it as a logistical chore—a puzzle of thrift and timing to make sure nothing goes to waste.

But if you flip through the pages of vintage community cookbooks and historical pamphlets, you quickly realize our grandmothers viewed these ordinary scraps through a completely different lens. To them, a leftover wasn't just a chore; it was a blank canvas. In eras where resources were tight but imagination was a necessity, transforming yesterday's dinner became an unexpected outlet for deep kitchen creativity and personal fulfillment.

Long before modern productivity guides told us how to "optimize our time," home cooks were finding a strange sort of joy and accomplishment in spinning gold out of ordinary odds and ends. Let’s take a journey through the decades to see the wildest, cleverest, and most creative ways vintage cooks treated the humble leftover.

1920s

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Croquettes

With the mass introduction of the electric refrigerator following WWI, holding leftovers safely for a few days became do-able. Cooked meat or vegetables from Sunday's dinner would be "safe" to eat on Monday or Tuesday. A popular way to use those cooked leftovers in this decade were the croquettes. Croquettes are cooked leftover meat, chopped fine, mixed with a heavy white sauce, shaped, dipped in egg, then rolled in crumbs before frying crispy.

Here's a recipe from a home economics textbook of that era, Everyday Foods, for Croquettes with Meat to make two croquettes:

Meat Mixture: 1/3 cup cooked meat, 3 drops onion juice, 1/2 teaspoon chopped parsley, 1/2 teaspoon lemon juice.

White Sauce Mixture: 1/4 cup milk, 1 teaspoon butter, 1 tablespoon flour, 1/8 teaspoon salt, dash pepper, celery salt, cayenne to taste.

Also needed: crumbs, egg, and fat for frying

Make White Sauce: Heat butter in saucepan until melted, stir in flour. Stir in milk, and continue cooking while stirring until thickened. Add seasonings.

To form the croquettes: Combine white sauce with ingredients for the meat mixture. Taste to see if well seasoned. Spread on a plate to cool. Shape into cones or cylinders using 1 rounding tablespoon of the mixture for each croquette. Roll in crumbs, dip in egg, roll again in crumbs. fry in deep fat and drain on brown paper.

1930s

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Jellied Salads

The 1930s required pure resourcefulness, giving rise to some of the most ingenious (and slightly baffling) food chemistry in American history.

Jellied salads had been growing in popularity since the mass roll-out of electric home refrigeration in the 1920s. By the 1930s every housewife had a favorite molded salad. Many of the 1930s jellied salad recipes showcased ways to stretch limited foods for a large group, such as using a modest amount of leftover cooked meat to feed a party..

This particular salad recipe uses 1 1/2 cups of leftover boiled or roasted chicken for 8 people, that's 3 tablespoons of meat per person, or about 1 ounce of meat per person. I could see this being served at a Depression-era wedding luncheon. In fact, my own grandmother used to tell me about a mid-1930s wedding luncheon where she and the bride's mother made a jellied salmon loaf, using 2 cans of salmon, lots of sweetened lemony gelatin, some celery, and a few cans of peas to feed a two dozen guests.

From my Better Homes and Gardens Cook Book, dated 1938, comes Party Salad. Here's how it was made:

1 tablespoon unflavored gelatin
1/4 cup cold water
1 cup mayonnaise
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups diced, cooked chicken
3/4 cups almonds, blanched, toasted , and chopped
3/4 cup Malaga grapes (a sweet white grape, like our green grapes), halved and seeded

Soften gelatin in water, then dissolve over a bowl of hot water. Cool and combine with mayonnaise, cream, and salt. Fold in chicken, almonds, and grapes. Divide by 8 individual molds, and chill until firm. Unmold onto leaves of lettuce. Garnish with whole almonds and grapes.

1940s

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Cream of Leftover Soup

In the 1940s, food conservation wasn't just frugal; it was a patriotic duty. With meat, butter, and sugar strictly rationed by government stamps, home cooks took immense pride in stretching a single ounce of meat or fat into an entire family meal.

Even with victory gardens growing in their own backyard, housewives would no sooner waste leftover vegetables than they would waste precious coffee beans.

Here's a recipe from a 1944 meal planning guide, Health for Victory, 1944, that used leftover cooked vegetables as the base for a pot of soup.

Basic Cream of Leftover Vegetable Soup

1 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons butter or margarine
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
3 cups milk
1 cup finely chopped or pureed leftover vegetable of any kind

Blend the flour and butter/margarine, add seasonings, milk, and vegetable. Bring to a boil, then simmer for about 5 minutes. Serves 5.

Many of the recipes in my WW2 cookbooks featured entrees that required relatively little cooking time. Gas or electricity for stoves was not rationed in the US, but government campaigns encouraged households to be thoughtful with cooking fuel, so as to allow as much fuel as possible for use by factories supporting the war effort.

1950s

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One Dish Meals

By the 1950s, convenience foods had arrived, and the creative thrill shifted from strict survival to colorful speed. If you could dump it, stir it, and bake it, it was a triumph.

Hawaii became a state at the tail end of the 1950s. As such, there was a lot of curiosity about the Hawaiian culture and food on the mainland. Here's a recipe that uses leftover baked ham and leftover cooked rice to create a quasi-Hawaiian all-in-one meal. From The American Peoples Cookbook, dated 1956, Hawaiian Supper:

2 1/2 cups, slivered cooked ham
1/2 cup chopped green pepper
2 tablespoons fat
1 9-oz can pineapple tidbits
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 1/2 tablespoons vinegar
3/4 cup water
1 1/2 teaspoons prepared mustard
1/8 teaspoon pepper

1 1/2 cups leftover cooked rice
2 tablespoons butter or margarine

Heat a heavy skillet and melt fat. Add the ham and green pepper. Cook until ham is lightly browned, occasionally moving and turning mixture with a spoon.

Meanwhile drain and reserve sirup (set aside) from the canned pineapple.

In a bowl, mix together, thoroughly, brown sugar, cornstarch and vinegar to form a smooth paste. Gradually add the reserved pineapple sirup, water, mustard, and pepper.

Pour the cornstarch mixture into the skillet with the ham. Cook, stirring constantly, until mixture thickens and is transparent. Stir in pineapple tidbits.

Reheat the rice and mix in the butter or margarine. Serve the ham mixture over the rice.

4 or 5 servings

1960s

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Shortcut Meals

During the "space age" era, women didn't want to spend a great deal of time actively working on weekday meals. If they had leftovers, they wanted to combine them quickly to make a hearty meal for their families. Dishes like hash, chop suey, and leftover meat in a sauce over cooked noodles graced many tables in this decade. My mother's McCall's Cook Book, dated 1963, had an entire section devoted to using leftovers. Here's a recipe for Stuffed Peppers, using leftover cooked beef and gravy.

2 large green peppers
1 teaspoon salt

Filling:1/2 cup leftover beef gravy
2 teaspoons instant minced onions
1/2 cup grated raw carrot
1 1/2 cups packaged, herb-seasoned stuffing
1/2 cup boiling water
1 cup chopped leftover cooked beef

Sauce:
1 8-oz can tomato sauce
1/2 cup leftover beef gravy
1 teaspoon instant minced onion
1/4 cup grated sharp Cheddar cheese

Wash peppers. Cut in half, lengthwise. Remove seeds and ribs.

In a medium saucepan, bring 4 cups water and the salt to boiling. Add peppers; reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, 15 minutes, or just until peppers are tender. Drain.

Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Make filling: In a small bowl lightly toss all ingredients to combine.

Make sauce: In a small saucepan, combine tomato sauce with gravy, onion, and 1/2 cup water; bring to boiling, over medium heat, stirring constantly.

Fill each pepper half with about 1/2 cup filling. Place in 2-quart casserole. Pour hot sauce into bottom of casserole.

Bake peppers, uncovered, 20 minutes. Baste with sauce; sprinkle with cheese; bake 10 minutes longer.

1970s

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Leftovers à la Français

In the 1970s, leftovers went upscale. If you gave a leftover dish a French name, it suddenly felt chic, fulfilling a desire to bring a little bit of gourmet flair into the everyday routine.

I still have my mother's electric crepe pan. It's this cool inside out, non-stick frying pan with a separate large shallow dish. You preheat the inside out pan, dip it into the batter in the large shallow dish, then turn the pan right side up to cook. You don't turn the crepes. The batter makes a thin enough French pancake that it cooks through without flipping.

According to Joy of Cooking, crepes make an ideal vehicle for leftovers. Prepare a batch of any recipe French pancakes (crepes) and set aside. Here are the instructions under the heading With Meat or Vegetables:

Fill the crepes with:

Hash with gravy or creamed, cooked vegetables, chicken, ham, chipped beef, or other precooked meat.

The cream sauce may be made from a condensed cream soup. [My mother made a white sauce to bind leftovers into a filling.]

Spread the crepes with the creamed mixture. Roll them. Place in a shallow casserole dish. Cover with the remaining sauce. Sprinkle with grated cheese, and brown them lightly under the broiler.

To mis-quote a 70s cigarette ad "We've come a long way, baby!" My own grandmother was born in 1905. She lived through cooking and heating with coal and an icebox, had a gas range as a newlywed in the late 1920s, enjoyed the electrification of kitchens in the 1950s, and in her final years in the 1990s, she had a microwave oven. The microwave was a gift from my uncle. She didn't trust the microwave, so she used it to store boxes of crackers. Through all of these changes, women dealt with the common problem of "what's for dinner?" She, too, had leftovers to use as a young mother, then later as an empty-nester, and finally as an elderly widow.

Like many other women of her generation, my grandmother didn't learn to cook from cookbooks, but instead learned from her mother, and then later from keeping house herself. She tried recipes that she found in magazines, clipped from the newspaper, swapped with her neighbors, in the recipe pamphlets offered by manufacturers, listening to radio shows, and then later watching the popular cooking shows on television. Many of these recipe avenues offered advice for using leftovers, particularly in the 1930s and 1940s. And today, we have the internet for finding recipes or suggestions for using our own leftovers. Yes, indeed, we've come a long way, baby!

If you had to choose which decade you'd most want to cook in, which one would you choose? Do any of these past uses for leftovers sound like they would work for today's home cooks? Did you have parents or grandparents who shared stories about the creative ways they stretched family meals in the Great Depression or during WW2?

Have a great weekend, friends!

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The Productive Way to Put Your Soul First (Without the Guilt)

2026-08-13T04:00:00.000-07:00

The Morning Panic

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You wake up in the morning, and for a brief moment you forget the list of chores ahead of you for the day. The fog of sleep still blissfully blankets your mind, preventing you from remembering what your day will likely be. Then you come to. Your to-do list is long. Every task feels important. I'm behind on laundry, I need to defrost meat for dinner. I have a bill I need to make a call about to dispute. I need to get another coat of paint onto the deck railing -- the rain will be back soon. Oh, but I can't. I'm out of paint. Onto the list goes a trip to Home Depot. While I'm out I should swing by the pharmacy and pick up my husband's rx. I need to schedule that doctor's appointment. The floors really need a good mopping after the dog tracked in grass clippings and dirt. We're out of bread, so I should get that started. Human brains suffer from decision fatigue when every task feels urgent.

Yet, that creative project you’ve been dying to start sits untouched in the corner. The long-distance friend you’ve been meaning to call will get another text that says, “So sorry, crazy week, let’s catch up soon!” The business idea you wanted to get started on will be pushed off to a saner time. The yoga class at the community center you've been meaning to try out will just have to wait for another day.

You will spend the day doing chores that don't really feed your soul in any meaningful way. You will paddle furiously, but your boat will just drift wherever the current of to-do's take it.

Dropping the Anchor (Task)

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When our days feel like a storm of "urgent" chores, we don't need a new color-coded planner. We need an anchor.

An Anchor Task is the one non-negotiable activity that grounds your day. It is a single, high-priority project that you commit to completing, no matter how chaotic the rest of the afternoon becomes.

But here is the twist: your Anchor Task doesn’t have to be a dry, administrative chore. In fact, it shouldn't be. For our purposes this week, an Anchor Task is a protected respite for the creative or relational desires we usually push to the back burner.

It is 45 minutes of uninterrupted watercolor painting. It is writing that one chapter of your memoir. It is a focused, cup-filling phone call with your sister—without multitasking while doing the dishes.

The storm of daily work will still rage around you. The waves of texts and emails will still crash. But when you drop an anchor first, you do not drift. You carve out a piece of the day for what actually feeds your soul, and suddenly, the rest of the daily upkeep feels a whole lot lighter.

Enter the "Task Sandwich"

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Of course, the biggest roadblock to this strategy is the nagging voice in your head that whispers, “Must be nice to paint for an hour, but who is going to mop the dirty kitchen floor?”

It’s a fair point. Life doesn't stop just because we want to be creative. If you try to jump straight into a deep relational or creative project while leaving your chores till later, your mind won't let you relax. You will just sit there, thinking about all of the other things you could be doing with the time.

The secret isn’t to ignore your daily chores—it’s to sandwich them.

Instead of letting routine tasks scatter across your entire day, pack them tightly around your Anchor Task. Think of it as a three-layer sandwich designed to protect your focus and keep your house running smoothly. Here's how it works:

The Top Crust (The 20-Minute Clear-Out): Set the timer for 20 minutes and race through the mundane chores to assuage any guilt over embarking upon your passion project.
The Filling (The Anchor Task): Your protected, 45-to-90-minute block for your creative or relational project. Set the timer, and go to it. No multitasking allowed. And protect that space. When the phone rings, let it go to voicemail. When a family member "needs" you to help them find something, assure them you'll help just as soon as your project time is over.
The Bottom Crust (The Whoosh of Air That Pulls You Forward): A 30-minute wrap-up block. Now that your cup is full from doing something just for you, use that positive momentum to ride the wind straight into the remaining necessary tasks.

By structuring your afternoon this way, your chores no longer compete with your creativity. Instead, they act as the bookends that protect it. In all, about 95 to 140 minutes transpired during your task sandwich. You got some necessary chores done and had time to pursue something that fills you up. If your task sandwich is in the afternoon, you still have time to work all morning at bigger jobs, do the grocery shopping for the week, go to an appointment, or work in the garden, plus get dinner ready after the sandwich.

The Sandwich in Action: Two Real-Life Examples

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To see how this works in the real life, let’s look at two different ways we can build a task sandwich depending on what our spirit needs today.

Example 1: The Creative Writing Day

The Top Crust (1:00 PM – 1:20 PM): I set a timer for 20 minutes. I quickly clean the kitchen from the breakfast and lunch mess, start a load of laundry, and go online to set up that doctor's appointment. The physical space is clear, and the immediate fires are out.
The Filling (1:20 PM – 2:35 PM): I light a candle, close my laptop tabs, and open my manuscript. For 75 minutes, I am a writer. The laundry is spinning in the background, but I ignore it. I write three new pages of my short story.
The Bottom Crust (2:35 PM – 3:05 PM): My writing timer goes off. Feeling energized by my progress, I move the laundry to the dryer, make a pass over the kitchen floor with the DIY Swiffer, and make a salad to go with dinner.

Example 2: The Relational Connection Day

The Top Crust (3:00 PM – 3:20 PM): I take 20 minutes to collect the mail and sort, pay two quick bills online, and fold and put away one load of laundry.
The Filling (3:20 PM – 4:05 PM): I sit on the porch with a cup of tea and call my best friend who lives three states away. For 45 minutes, we laugh, catch up, and deeply connect. My hands are still; I am not cleaning counters or organizing the fridge while she talks.
The Bottom Crust (4:05 PM – 4:35 PM): I say goodbye, feeling deeply loved and seen. With that emotional tank filled, I head inside and spend 30 minutes doing a quick organizing of the pantry/refilling canisters, making out tomorrow's grocery shopping list, and putting my shopping bags into the car.

Drop Your Anchor Tomorrow

It is easy to look at a messy house or a long list of obligations and tell yourself, "I’ll focus on my writing when things quiet down," or "I'll call my sister next week when I have more time."

But here is the truth we often forget: the things that feed our souls will never just "fit" into the cracks of a busy life. If we wait for the perfect, empty day to create or connect, we will be waiting forever.

You do not need an entire open afternoon to reclaim your creativity or deepen your relationships. You just need to build a better sandwich.

And here's the beauty of this method: it forces you to do something for yourself. Most of us can find every excuse not to do something that is just for ourselves. We busy ourselves with work for the home, work for the family, work for the church or other organization. And those things are excellent to do. But we also need to make sure we're running on full and not empty. One of the ways to fill our tanks is to pursue a passion project.

Tomorrow morning, look at your schedule. Pick one single creative or passion project or a relational connection that you have been pushing aside. Give it a specific time slot. Wrap it tightly between your routine chores using the Sandwich Method.

Drop your anchor first. Let the storm rage around you. You might be surprised by how much lighter the rest of the day feels when your cup is already full.

Over to You!

If you dropped an anchor tomorrow to protect your creative energy, what would you use that time for?

What is one creative project that would truly feed your soul right now?

Are you dying to break out the watercolors, dust off your sewing machine, dig into the garden, or finally sit down with that notebook?

The Energy Audit: How to Fit a Passion Project onto an Already Full Plate

2026-08-12T04:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I wrote a little about how I had been feeling. I didn't feel like it was burnout, as when I would spend a day resting (Sunday), I would still feel tired and uninspired the next week. I didn't feel that it was boredom with a lack of activity, as I was still so busy every week (hence the day of rest every Sunday). There is something in-between. Your plate may be full, but your exhaustion stems not from overwork necessarily, but from under-stimulation. It could be that your tasks are repetitive and unchallenging, or your gifts and talents are underused. This is where I've been. And here's how I've addressed it.

The Myth of the "Blank Slate"

If I had waited for a blank slate to start my newsletter, I would still be waiting. My days are packed. So instead of waiting for empty space, I carved it out of my existing routine. I chose to cook simpler meals for a few weeks to lower my chore load, and I traded my lunchtime with a podcast for thirty minutes of quiet writing. I didn't get a blank slate; I just chose to paint over a small corner of the canvas I already had. A creative project was not a drain on my limited time, but a generator of mental energy.

Job-Crafting for Busy Lives

Are you familiar with the term "job-crafting?" Psychologists Amy Wrzesniewski and Jane Dutton pioneered this concept around 2001. In short, it's an organizational psychology framework where individuals intentionally redesign their own roles to better fit their values, strengths, and passions. For a homemaker or a woman in a transitional phase, it means looking at her daily life not as a fixed checklist of chores, but as a flexible role that she has the power to remodel. The end result is greater motivation, reduced burnout, and improved performance in one's role.

There are 3 main pillars of job-crafting: task crafting, relational crafting, and cognitive crafting. Let's talk about each of those and see how they might look for women like us.

Task Crafting

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Task crafting for a busy life may look more like an efficiency shift. For me, that has meant streamlining or bundling repetitive chores to aggressively buy back 30 to 60 minutes of daily creative time. I mentioned that I've been serving simpler dinners and cooking enough for more than one meal at a time. I also have consolidated my grocery shopping into 2 sessions per month, instead of once per week. When I clean house, I go about it like a mad-woman. I no longer spend my lunch break mindlessly listening to podcasts while I simultaneously eat lunch and play solitaire. I write instead. And I've turned a couple of seasonal tasks over to my daughters. I have averaged about 10 hours of time savings per week for the past month. That right there has given me the time I needed to put together this newsletter.

Relational Crafting

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If task crafting was more of an efficiency shift, relational crafting for a busy life could be termed a connection shift. As a homemaker, and particularly with my family needing me less and busy with their own lives, my role has been isolating. The shutdowns with Covid didn't help either. I kept up with group Bible studies via zoom in that year, but it wasn't the same. If you're the keeper of the home, then your job description entails a lot of hours alone actually keeping that home. Relational crafting puts us into projects that connect us to an intentional community, and not merely a social hour where you hang out for a bit. Sharing a passion for a project or organization fosters deeper connections.

This might look like hosting a cooking group for the woman who lives alone. One night a month, the hostess invites a handful of other solo women to cook with and share a feast with. This is different from a potluck gathering. In relational crafting, the women participate in the cooking together.

Or it might look like an opportunity to share your skills with others just starting out. By midlife and older, we've accumulated an incredible wealth of practical knowledge. There are women who would welcome an "expert" in a craft they are just starting out in. Many churches have knitting circles. At our last church, there was a woman who could knit socks like a pro. Anyone who wanted to come to the month's knitting group could learn from her. Or perhaps it's a bread-baking for beginners group, where you share your bread-baking knowledge with a group of women once a month. We so often turn to youtube for tutorials to learn new skills. By sharing skills in person instead, those deep and meaningful connections are formed, and the "expert" finds herself needed in a new way. Homemaking skills are valuable assets worth teaching and passing down.

Or perhaps relational crafting might look like one neighbor starting a private facebook group for the entire neighborhood, or a woman orchestrating a group email exchange with a friend group from church, or initiating an extended-family, round robin newsletter. Instead of writing alone, she is the "editor," encouraging the other women in the group to participate and feel seen and heard -- asking a question, soliciting favorite moments of the week from the group, or a book recommendation. This sort of group connects a specific circle of women in a safe and non-public space.

Cognitive Crafting

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The last pillar of job-crafting is cognitive crafting, an identity shift, where you reshape your view of your current role, and you expand it to include your whole person, not just a list of jobs that you do. I am not just the person who does the housework, but I am the woman who manages the home and I create publications. A month ago I began putting more of myself into my blog writing. When I started the newsletter, I chose to see myself as someone who writes, not just the blog, but now in another format. I began to see myself as creative in a way I hadn't defined myself for many years. But also, I began to see my role in the house in different ways. Yes, I manage the finances and cook meals, but I am also the caretaker of my family's health and well-being. I am the one who does the research on nutrition to make sure we all eat as well as possible. I am the event planner who creates events for us to enjoy and bond over. These are important roles in a family. My husband takes care of us financially, and I take care of our health and emotional well-being. Because I think of myself in this way, I put more effort into performing my role.

The Hospital Custodian Lesson

The hospital worker study conducted by Wrzesniewski and Dutton looked at employee job satisfaction at a major medical center. They were most interested in the group of employees tasked with cleaning patient rooms. The study found that there were two main groups of employees, divided by their attitude and concept of their roles in the hospital.

In one group, employees tended to describe their jobs as if they were reading off of the "want ad" for that role, listing basic tasks that they performed daily. This group identified their work as unskilled labor. They didn't particularly enjoy their work, instead citing they were there for the "benefits."

The second group held a surprising view of their jobs. They looked at their work as important in the hospital and highly skilled. They saw themselves as providing a clean environment for patients to recover in. They engaged patients in conversation daily, developing bonds with folks at some of their most vulnerable moments in life. They were the type of custodian who whistled their way through each shift. These were deeply happy employees. They saw themselves as integral parts of the hospital environment. They weren't doctors or nurses, yet they felt similar responsibility toward the well-being of the patients. They took a basic janitorial job and reimagined it into a form of healing facilitator. They made an identity shift in how they viewed their role.

Guess which group suffered the least amount of burnout?

My personal "busy but uninspired" mindset likely came on in bits and pieces. There wasn't one huge catastrophic event or life change that led to my state. My life was full. My life was busy. But the light of joy was barely flickering. Over time, I'd come to undervalue the importance of my role as a homemaker, while simultaneously taking on any and every extra job asked of me, whether or not it fit who I was designed to be. We've each been given unique passions and talents. When women are very busy, it is easy to put focus on physically doing and neglect our inner beings.

Looking to tomorrow's post, what are your top three household chores that feel like mindless energy drains? Thursday, we'll look at how to sandwich those drains between 'Anchor Tasks' to physically restructure our days.