Monday, November 11, 2013

This Open Letter to My Leftovers

Dear Leftovers,

I'm not eating you. I don't care how awesome a meal you were the first time around. I don't care how zesty and flavorful you were. That was two weeks ago, and unlike Ghostbusters, you have not aged well. Like Ghostbusters, you are covered in unexplained green slime and some people from the EPA want to shut you down. So no, I'm not eating you.

Don't take it so personally. It's not like I didn't want to eat you. I love leftovers. Sometimes food is better the second time around, and leftovers are an under-rated pleasure. That's why I get a to-go box when I'm dining out, as there's nothing like having last night's dinner for breakfast. Believe me, I am very pro-leftover.

I'm just not eating you. Look, I've had some bad experiences with old leftovers in the past. They looked so inviting and promised me a good time, but then I spent the next several hours putting out more fluids than I was taking in. Had this happened on Halloween I wouldn't have needed a costume; I could have won any zombie costume contest by going as myself. Never again.

Yes, I realize that I'm letting food go to waste, and there are starving children somewhere who would be grateful. Except no, they would not be grateful to have you. In fact, I would be charged with war crimes for sending you over there. Since I have much better things to do than stand before The Hague, I think just this once those staving children will prefer to be without you.

Great, now I feel guilty for writing that. Seriously, I'm looking at what I've just written and I hate myself a little. Here I am, so flush with food that I can let things go bad, that I can forget about the fact that I have food around me, that I dismiss the idea of leftovers with cavalier abandon. And yet, there are people in the world who would be grateful to eat half as well as me.

So thank you very much, rotten leftovers. You've made me take a long, hard look at my life of privilege and plenty. And you've made me realize just how lucky I am, really, and how I should share my good fortune with others. Which is why a local food bank is getting a very generous donation this Christmas Holiday season.

But I'm still not eating you.

Inedibly yours,

Charles B. French

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