Leftovers

During my high school days, there was only one thing I dreaded coming home too, and it was not my parents after breaking curfew (because I never had a curfew).  It was leftover night.   I have always hated leftovers.  For some reason, after removing food from its pan and placing it into plastic square containers, I feel that the food takes on a new unappetizing life.  Squished tight into too-small containers to save refrigerator space, it becomes about as appealing as squeezing into my middle school jeans after a night of cooking making. Something about cold, plastic-cased, aging food is very unappealing, unless you’re a microbe. Despite the fact that the coolness of the refrigerator is supposed to prevent microbes from slowing turning your lasagna into mold, there is just something off-putting about the microbe breeding ground we more politely call the refrigerator.  In high school, I used to excessively clean the refrigerator, without being asked.  I think I felt, subconsciously, that if my refrigerator was coated in a thin layer of Clorox, that somehow I would be more inclined to eat my mom’s last night’s creation. 

                However, college is all about challenging, and sometimes changing, your perspectives.  For me, college living has changed my perspective on leftovers.  Two weeks ago, I had enchiladas, soup, and my roommate’s lasagna for my dinner options.  Last week, too overwhelmed by my midterm test and term paper, I reverted back to my old habits and ate Mac and Cheese, Lipton Soup Packets (the fancy form of Ramen), and about 7-8 bagels that were leftover from a conference I attended.   Last week I realized that I missed leftovers. I kept opening up my fridge (which ironically is much more revolting than my mother’s and hasn’t felt the sweet kiss of Clorox because the refrigerator existed before Clorox was invented), hoping to find some leftover creation waiting for me.  By Friday, I really felt desperate.  Turns out my body had adjusted to eating something besides string cheese and bean tacos, and my body could no longer handle meager rations paired with increased stomach acid from my stress level.  I can’t wait to make a new meal this week because that will mean I have new leftovers.