“Leftovers night” is a way of me saying “my fridge is full, and I’m too lazy to cook.” Basically, all the stuff I’ve made through the week, packed up, and stuffed in my fridge for later has two options: it goes in the trash, or I call it quits on cooking for a day and it goes in our stomachs. Being a big fan of not wasting food, and not wasting money, I opt for the latter myself.

The problem with this is that there isn’t always the best kid food available on leftovers night. Tonight they had an option of lasagna (which Eric tried the first time around and declared yucky) or pork fried rice (which, in the hands of my children, ends up 80% on the floor and 20% in their mouths). So I turned it to them, or at least Eric: I asked him what he wanted for supper tonight.

“Pizza!”

Hm. That didn’t work out so well. There’s no cheese pizza in the freezer, the only type of frozen pizza he’ll eat, and we’re certainly not calling up Domino’s for my 3 year old’s craving. So, I sat, and I thought. Full fridge. No pizza.

Why not make some?

Digging around in the fridge, I came…close enough: the last few flour tortillas, some mild salsa (in the absence of any kind of open tomato sauce), some thin sliced deli turkey, and about 1/4 of a bag left of shredded cheddar. This combination had two benefits. The first is that it could be made into the much-requested pizza; the second is that Eric could make it with just a little help from me.

He pulled over a chair, I slapped a tortilla down on the counter, and we went to work. I spooned out some of the salsa, dodging any chunks of anything in it, and he spread it around the tortilla. I tore up the turkey and he set it on top of the “sauce.” Then, he grabbed a huge handful of the cheese and sprinkled it carefully dumped it quite haphazardly on top of it all. One frying pan with a lid and a couple minutes later, the cheese was melted, the turkey appropriately hidden (because he won’t eat toppings he can see), and the tortilla had become a cracker-thin crust.

Honestly? I expected my little creative burst to turn into a spectacular failure. As it sat in the frying pan, I was already warning him off. “We’re going to try this, Eric,” I told him, “but if you don’t like it, I can make you something else. Do you want chicken nuggets?”

I shouldn’t have worried. It turned out awesome. I couldn’t even taken a picture of it without Eric reaching for more. Three times while eating it Eric came up to me and announced, “Mommy, I like this!”

Danny, staring on hungrily, got a quesadilla that looked a whole lot like a pizza. Cheese, salsa, and “shredded” turkey, minus the lid on the frying pan, plus a quick fold. All of the yumminess, much less of the mess factor for a 2 year old that likes to dump food over the edge of his tray when he’s done.

Talk about an International supper – Eric had Italian (sort of), Danny had Mexican, I had Chinese, and dad had… Well, dad hasn’t eaten yet. All of that, and I only pretended to cook. Not bad, huh?