To the leftovers I forgot at my friend’s house in Minneapolis:

I hope you’re happy with him.

When we met at India Palace in Uptown, I knew there was an instant connection. Through the crowds of entree titles, among various masalas and curries, you immediately stood out.

Sure, I wasn’t actually the person at the table that selected you because I have crippling executive dysfunction at restaurants, but I did say, “Sure, that sounds good.” Didn’t that mean something to you?

We waited in anticipation, snacking on delicious samosas and listening to the restaurant’s obnoxiously loud doorbell a few feet away.

When you arrived, I immediately knew we made the right choice. Chickpeas and tomatoes, cheese and spinach, it was everything I’d ever dreamed of for the past 20 minutes while I was waiting for dinner.

Okay, fine. I wasn’t perfect the first time we met. I spilled some of you on my jeans and definitely messed up the rice proportions a little.

You weren’t perfect, though, either. The mild spice level was definitely just a little too mild, and we absolutely should have ordered medium instead. I’m sorry if that’s hurtful, but it’s just the truth.

That’s not important, though. I’m not trying to hurt you, leftovers I forgot in my friend’s fridge. I’m writing this letter to show my regrets.

So, let’s get to it.

To begin with, I regret ordering the mild spice level instead of the medium, but we already covered that.

Second, I regret saying yes to a plastic bag to carry you with. This might seem like a small detail, but it represents a lot.

I’m a fairly environmentally conscious person. I don’t use straws at restaurants, even if the server drops them off without asking, that way everyone knows how environmentally conscious I am.

At grocery stores, I try to use paper whenever possible. I occasionally recycle. These are all things environmentally conscious people do.

So, when the server asked me if I wanted a plastic bag to carry your boxes in, I regret saying yes. I swear it was only because I was the only person at the table at the time and I panicked.

Next, I regret leaving you in the front seat of my car while I played Mortal Kombat at a nearby barcade for four hours. I think this one is self-explanatory, and I sincerely apologize for that disrespect.

Most importantly, I regret leaving you in my friend’s fridge on Monday morning when I drove back to Eau Claire. I know it will be difficult to forgive me for this one, but let me explain.

I know this isn’t an excuse, but I was in a serious rush that fateful morning. I had class in the afternoon, and it was a long drive. Plus, don’t forget you were in a plastic bag, so I could barely even recognize you.

Okay, this explanation really isn’t helping me out much, and I guess that brings us to the root of our problems.

You’re too good for me, leftovers I forgot in my friend’s fridge. You always were. I didn’t appreciate your mild spice level, I shoved you in a plastic bag, and I left you in the car while I played ungodly amounts of arcade games.

And then, when you needed me most, I left you behind in that cramped, poorly cleaned-college refrigerator.

I’m sorry, leftovers I forgot in my friend’s fridge, and I hope you’re happy back there. 

Maybe we’ll meet again someday, and I can reheat you in the microwave, for old times’ sake.

Sincerely,

Porisch can be reached at [email protected].