Sundays used to be for rest, reflection, maybe a little rebellion against Monday. But lately, my Sundays have taken on a new identity. Sundays have become Leftover Sundays.

It wasn’t an intentional lifestyle choice. It just happened. Somewhere between my Thursday night “let’s try something new” recipes and my Friday “too tired, let’s just grill some chicken” routine, I ended up with an army of Tupperware containers giving me judgmental stares every time I open the fridge.

So now, Sundays are less about brunch and more about culinary psychology. I stand in front of the refrigerator door, arms crossed, analyzing my week through its edible remains. There’s the grilled chicken I swore I’d use in salads but never did. The corned beef that looked like a good idea on Tuesday but lost all charm by Friday. The lamb lollipops that felt fancy and celebratory, and now just sit there looking small, proud, and uneaten.

What to do with this motley crew of culinary misfits? A meatloaf mashup? A smorgasbord of half-remembered meals? The irony of leftovers is that they promise ease of “Just reheat and relax!” but instead they demand creativity. You can’t just eat them as they are; you have to rebrand them. Suddenly, you’re making new sides, new sauces, and new justifications for why this time it’ll taste better. Leftovers aren’t lazy. They’re extra work disguised as thriftiness.

And perhaps that’s why I find them oddly symbolic. Leftovers are the edible representation of our week’s good intentions. They are what we didn’t finish, what didn’t quite work, what someone (cough my son, cough) didn’t like. They’re also a reminder that even the discarded bits can find new purpose, with a little imagination.

So yes, Sundays have become my leftover therapy sessions. I reflect, I reheat, I remix. It’s not exactly relaxing, but it’s real. And every now and then, something magical happens like when Tuesday’s chicken and Thursday’s sauce come together in an unexpected harmony.

Maybe that’s what Sundays are meant to be. Sundays are a gentle remix of the week, a reminder that not everything has to be perfect the first time around.

Now excuse me while I go negotiate peace between the corned beef and the lamb lollipops.