The Leftover Life: Why My Kid’s Plate Is My Favorite Menu
Confessions of a Dad Who’s Eaten More Cold Nuggets Than Hot Meals This Year
I didn’t plan on becoming a garbage disposal in sweatpants, but here we are. Somewhere between “just try two bites” and “no dessert until you finish your chicken,” I evolved. I am now The Finisher.
My kids eat 70% of their meals on a good day. That leaves 30% of lukewarm, weirdly cut, half-chewed glory for me—and honestly? I don’t hate it.
Because every now and then, I get a bite of something I didn’t cook, didn’t pay attention to, and didn’t have to share. That’s called a win, my friends.
And it’s led me to develop a very specific palate. A refined ranking system, if you will.
So here it is—my Top 5 Kids’ Foods I Secretly Get Excited to Eat Their Leftovers. And yes, I’ve given this more thought than most of my career decisions.
#1: Mac & Cheese
The Holy Grail. The MVP. The creamy, artificially-colored beacon of joy.
I don’t care if it’s Kraft, Annie’s, or the off-brand bag from the grocery outlet that just says “Cheese Pasta: Now More Orange!”
If there’s a spoonful left in the bowl, that’s my spoonful now.
The edges might be dry. The cheese might’ve turned into a solid film. Doesn’t matter. My standards are low and my cravings are specific.
Plus, eating it cold straight from a plastic bowl while standing over the sink? That’s peak dad cuisine.
#2: Chicken Nuggets (Bonus Points for Dino-Shaped)
These are the filet mignon of the toddler plate. If they’re shaped like dinosaurs? Forget it—I’m calling dibs before they even start eating.
Something about eating a slightly overcooked T-Rex nugget brings me back to my childhood, when joy was simple and ketchup was its own food group.
Are they dry? Yes.
Will I burn my mouth trying to sneak a bite? Also yes.
Will I still proudly claim the last Velociraptor? Absolutely.
#3: Unfinished Waffles
The real breakfast of champions: one quarter of a soggy Eggo, already syrup-soaked, usually located under a napkin.
Waffles hit different when they’re 17 minutes past their prime.
The syrup has caramelized, the edges have the crunch of existential dread, and there’s a faint hint of toddler breath still lingering on one corner.
And yet—I will devour it like it’s a delicacy.
Because at this point, the real question isn’t “Is it good?” It’s “Is it mine now?”
#4: Grilled Cheese Crusts
The most underrated part of the sandwich. Also known as the Dad Tax.
My kid peels off the edges like they’re unworthy of her palate, and I sweep in like a raccoon at a food truck festival.
Those crusts? They’ve absorbed all the butter and cheese runoff. They are cheesy little secrets disguised as waste.
And if you think I’m not dipping those in whatever soup I’ve claimed from her untouched bowl, then you’ve clearly never met a father in survival mode.
#5: Fruit Snacks
Not technically leftovers, but we all know what happens:
She eats three, gets distracted by a shoe, and leaves the rest stuck to the table like edible fossils.
I swoop in like a sugar archaeologist. I don’t care that they’ve fused together into one unholy gummy mass.
That’s just efficiency.
Plus, fruit snacks are the only thing in this house that hasn't betrayed me emotionally. Yet.
Honorable Mentions:
Cold pizza crusts with one bite missing
Half-eaten cheese sticks that still somehow look brand new
Dry cereal from the snack cup they abandoned in the car three days ago (don't judge me—I'm not proud)
The Real Truth
Look, I don’t want to be this way. I didn’t grow up dreaming of eating rejected dinosaur meat and crust corners. But this is the season I’m in.
And sometimes, when the house is finally quiet and I’m standing in the kitchen eating the last bite of something she declared “yucky” five minutes ago, I realize something:
This is part of it.
The mess.
The crumbs.
The weird joy of being the last line of defense between the food and the trash can.
Because I’m not just cleaning a plate—I’m collecting the little, messy pieces of the day she trusted me to be part of.
Tonight’s Cocktail: “Crust & Glory”
For the parents who finish strong, one half-eaten bite at a time.
1½ oz rye whiskey
¾ oz vanilla liqueur
½ oz lemon juice
1 barspoon peanut butter (yep)
Shake hard and strain into a rocks glass over fresh ice
Garnish with a graham cracker edge, or just a proud sigh
Why it works:
Rye for resilience
Vanilla for warmth
Lemon for the tangy unpredictability of parenting
Peanut butter for the literal flavor of leftovers
It’s weird. It’s kind of magical. Just like the job.
I forgot to have children but reading you always cracks me up.
Thank you, just being part of their mess is the privilege of being a parent