My wife and I are nothing alike. She reads every new novel that comes out; I'm still trying to catch up on the old ones.

She likes to watch Law & Order; I enjoy shows that involve very few decapitations.

She says "potato"; I say "do we have any more potatoes?"

We really do speak different languages when it comes to potatoes and all other types of food.

She like her food dry; I like gravy and sauce and juice. She can't stand the thought of mayonnaise, even stashed away in a sealed jar in the pantry; I can't stand the thought of ... well, all food sounds pretty good to me.

One big difference between us doesn't involve the actual food, but its newness. She likes a first-run meal three times a day, even if it's just a frozen waffle for breakfast. I, on the other fork, could eat leftovers forever.

Wine improves with age, I figure, so why not food? A meal doesn't have to be hot off the stove to be nourishing.

I can always find something in a plastic tub in the refrigerator, a reminder of supper the night before. Remnants are fine -- so long as they didn't start out one color and end up green.

Take a recent week, for instance. We made stir-fry that Monday evening. Our wok was full of chicken, sausage, broccoli, carrots, onions, ginger, soy sauce and perhaps 112 other ingredients, which we served sizzling hot over a plate of brown rice.

The next day, my wife fixed something for her lunch; I took leftover stir-fry to work for mine. It turned out to be such a hectic day that I didn't even take the time to microwave it; even cold, my stir-fry was delicious.

That night, we had grilled chicken breasts for supper. The next day, I took more stir-fry to the office, along with leftover chicken that I had cut up and tossed in. I heated it this time, and it smelled better than one of those frozen cardboard meals my co-workers were microwaving.

That night, we had hamburgers from the backyard grill. The next day, I took stir-fry to work -- we had made a really big batch -- augmented by a handful of trail mix to give it crunch. (After a few days, broccoli does grow soggy.)

This went on all week. My wife ate normal lunches at home, and we had various other meals for supper. At work, I continued to subsist on variations of stir-fry:

Thursday -- Some Like It Hot: I added several drops of Tabasco to keep things interesting.

Friday -- The Return of the Son of the Bride of Stir-Fry: It turned out to be a meatless Friday, only because I had eaten the last of the sausage and chicken the day before. Vegetarianism is fine in small doses.

At week's end, the stir-fry was gone and my wife was happy not to have to look at it every time she opened the refrigerator.

I was happier still: I had not spent a cent for lunch all week.

Reach Glynn Moore at (706) 823-3419 or glynn.moore@augustachronicle.com.