a short ode to leftovers.

in the world of restaurant eaters, "leftovers" is a dirty word. it's the moldy mac and cheese festering in a tupperware in the back of your fridge, pushed out of the way by pudding cups and beer. it's the smell of mold spreading throughout your fridge as you put off cleaning it out. it's the stuff you intended to eat, but then forgot about.

in the restaurant world, leftovers become family dinners: leftover chicken parts, excess inventory from a food order, etc. fewer people ordered a dish than you expected and now you have a lot of something leftover.

restaurant leftovers are a little more interesting: it's the food you didn't make that you have brought back with you. the fact that it's from a restaurant - and thus "better" than what you can do yourself - transforms leftovers into a sort of secondary takeout.

but, my friends, if you think leftovers are horrible, then you are mistaken. i am eating my lunch right now: a "salad" of braised red cabbage, roast turkey, ricotta, and olive oil. all of these things are leftovers: the braised red cabbage was leftover from cod that we had last week, the roast turkey was leftover from my mother, the ricotta was leftover from something (...a long time ago but it was still good). the contents of your fridge, in simple combination with your staple kitchen ingredients, can be transformed into joy. combining leftovers is a different kind of thinking than shopping at the supermarket for specific ingredients; it's a lesson in constraints. how can you put these things together so that they'll taste good? and this journey often leads to new discoveries about things that go together. cooking with leftovers in a non-chop suey way will further your education in how and what to eat, and you will be happier for it.