When I called my dad last week, he was busy noshing — and kvetching.

He had gone to my sister Laura’s house for dinner the night before, and they had sent him home with a wheel of leftover cheddar. Dad was working his way through it.

“It tastes moldy,” he complained, between bites. “It’s like blue cheese, but not really. It’s kind of musty. I keep cutting off the moldy outside parts, but it still doesn’t taste right.”

“Then why are you eating it?” I asked him. “You didn’t even pay for it. Why don’t you just throw it out?”

In the silence that followed, I could almost hear him shaking his Depression Era head in consternation over the prodigal child he had raised. Throw out perfectly good food just because it tasted bad, was rotten, or might kill him? Unheard of!

“Maybe it’ll be better if I melt it,” he said, completely ignoring my suggestion.

I didn’t bother to argue. Food gets thrown out in dad’s house only when my sister Judy visits. And even then, some items miraculously find their way out of the trash and back onto his shelves when she turns her back.

I swear, there are cans in his storage room that have “use-by” dates from the 1980s. It’s a minefield — every time I step inside I worry that one of the tins will explode and I’ll be mowed down by the shrapnel.

My sister Laura is a lot like him. She’s the embodiment of my mother’s favorite phrase: “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She can’t stand to waste food, even stuff she wouldn’t eat herself. Instead she bundles it up and gives it to dad, moldy cheese and all. (We really need to talk about finding her a codependency support group.)

Judy, on the other hand, is an orange, not an apple. She has tried to escape her upbringing by acting in complete opposition. She never saw a leftover she didn’t want to toss out immediately. (Which is ironic, because she always cooks in quantities that suggest she is expecting a sudden influx of starving refugees.) Whenever dad visits her, I worry that the sight of the overflowing trash bags will drive him into an apoplectic fit.

I know how he feels, because waste bugs me, too. OK, I admit it — I’ve also inherited dad’s frugality. My problem is that, unlike Laura, I live too far away to use him as a toxic waste dumping ground. Instead, I wrap everything up and stick it in my fridge — then move it bite by bite onto my hips.

I threw a big party recently, and the fridge has been overflowing with containers of leftover oddments I have felt obliged to eat my way through. Guacamole for breakfast one day; hummus the next. Random salads for lunch. And dinner. And lunch again. (I tried to feed some to the cats, but no dice. Even perpetually hungry Eddie turned up his nose.)

I worked my way through more tired dips and appetizers and not-quite-soggy chips than was good for either my spirit or my waistline. Then this morning I opened the refrigerator and spotted the eternally full container of rice salad (I swear it reproduces in the dark) — and gagged at the idea of taking another bite. Enough was enough. Borrowing Judy’s resolve, I picked up the ziploc bag and tossed it in the trash.

Liberation! I was starting to understand why Judy did it. In fact, it felt so good, I went back to the fridge and grabbed more leftovers and dumped them down the sink. Seeing room on the shelves was inspiring; I combed through the fridge, ruthlessly tossing out wilted herbs, a dried-out jalapeno, several almost-empty jars and some really scary-looking olives, along with any other evidence I could find of compulsive food saving.

I felt like a changed woman. Can an apple turn into an orange? Maybe not, but this apple was going to roll far away from the tree.

Except.

When I opened the cooler drawer, I spotted a large chunk of cheese someone had brought to the party. Seriously, how could I throw that out? Cheese is aged for months. It doesn’t go bad overnight.

Sure there was a bit of green mold on the rind, but that was easy to cut off. And its flavor was a little funky, but that’s probably what it’s supposed to taste like. I’m sure it will be fine if I melt it …

Old Bay Cole Slaw

Serves 10-12

I’ll let you know if I come up with a great recipe for rotten cheese fondue. But in the meantime here’s a party salad that didn’t end up back in the fridge.

A few weeks ago, the bag on my Sunday paper included a free sample of Old Bay seasoning, which I of course stuck in the spice drawer. (Well, I couldn’t let it go to waste, could I?) While I was tossing together salads for the party, inspiration struck, and I added it to the coleslaw. I think its secret blend of celery salt, pepper, allspice and other spices gives the slaw a nice kick.

1 small cabbage, shredded or 2 packages shredded cabbage

3 carrots, shredded

3 Tbsp. mayonnaise

3 Tbsp. sugar

2 Tbsp. plus 1 tsp. Old Bay seasoning

1 tsp. celery seed

1 tsp. mustard powder

3 Tbsp. cider vinegar

Salt

Toss together the cabbage and carrots in a large bowl and salt well. Let sit for about 20 minutes. In a small bowl or cup, stir the sugar and spices into the mayonnaise, then mix in the vinegar. Pour the dressing over the cabbage, and toss well. Taste and adjust seasonings. Let sit at least 15 minutes to blend flavors.

Betty Teller hasn’t given herself food poisoning yet, but it’s just a matter of time. Until she does, you can reach her at amuse-bouche@sbcglobal.net.