Most of my family are weirdly averse to leftovers. This stuns the hell out of me because we all grew up poor as fuck where food was rarely plentiful and sometimes a luxury and yet still they mostly turn their noses up at any leftovers.
I do not. I love leftovers. As a friend of mine once said, “Leftovers are a gift to your future self from your current self.”
My families leftover-snobbiness perplexes me a great deal. I worry a lot about food waste. Not just my own (sometimes I over buy food because I think I eat more than I do), and not just on a familial level but on a global scale. I can’t think about it too much or it gives me a stomachache. Because of this I’m a total food pusher and will always try to make you eat or take food home if you’re at my house.
Because of my penchant for leftovers, my obsession with food waste, and my parents’ belief that I cannot take care of myself because of my lack of husband, it’s rare I leave their house without a sack full of food. Usually this is in the form of leftovers. However, since we had French toast for dinner on Sunday there was nothing left, because French toast is the best thing ever. That does not mean I didn’t go home with random food my mom decided I needed. This included:
- A pound of butter
- Three frozen It’s not delivery, it’s DiGiorno pizzas (four cheese, pepperoni, and cheese-stuffed crust)
- One package of Hebrew National hotdogs
- A pound of bacon
So if anyone wants to come over for crappy frozen pizza (Heggies is the only good frozen pizza, amen) or bacon, you are cordially invited.