When I read Gabrielle Hamilton’s memoir Blood, Bones and Butter a few years ago, one passage that resonated with me concerned a technique she learned about getting every last ounce of egg white out of the shell by swiping it with her thumb. It’s a frugal maneuver. Fail to wipe the shell clean, and you’re wasting food.
I store just-about-empty bottles of salad dressing upside down and take a silicon spatula to the sides of mayonnaise jars to get every last bit, behavior that my husband Andy points to as proof of my New-Englandness. So I have always had mixed feelings about Jack-o-lanterns.