I like to think that this is how Sir Alexander Fleming got his start - when something senescent in his fridge grew an interesting mold and he thought, "Hmmm, wonder what could I do with that?"
I'm continually finding these interesting science experiments lurking half eaten behind the first layer of food in my reefer. I get this particular affliction directly from my mother; a child of the Great Depression, she never threw any food away. She would carefully wrap six green beans and tenderly place them in the fridge from which I would excavate them, covered in pale grey fur, three months later.
When I married and left home, I usually visited my parents in Hawaii once a year. Tough duty, huh? Because I was living in Rochester, NY where spring comes only reluctantly toward the very end of May and retreats briskly in mid-August, these trips to Hawaii were like visiting an entirely different planet. To go in roughly twelve hours from wading in knee-deep snow to wading in 75 degree aquamarine water was almost a surreal experience. The reverse was deeply depressing.
Yes, secretly - Mom became most indignant if she caught me pouring out the stinking milk or giving the old heave-ho to dessicated celery or shriveled and puckered tomatoes, accusing me of profligacy most foul. So, each morning before she was up, I'd sneak into the kitchen and hide one more slimy item underneath the refuse in the garbage can. Little did I realize that many years later her gene would express itself in me.
This particular symphony in cream, yellow and turquoise was once Lemon Quark. I think it's a cure for the common cold, or athlete's foot, or some disease we haven't even named yet. If I'm lucky, it will be the cure for Alzheimer's, the early stages of which I have been accused of exhibiting. I call them Senior Moments; others have muttered about dementia as they shovel my two month-old casserole down the GDU.