I present to you a familiar domestic tableau: a refrigerator door swinging open to reveal a crowd of condiments purchased for a single recipe. And then never touched again. They clink together as you reach past them — past the chili crisp you swore you’d use more often, the artisanal vinaigrette with a sell-by date approaching — to retrieve the same jar you always do. A family-favorite pasta sauce, perhaps. A reliable marinade. Something you’ve reached for many, many times before. Once already this week, in fact.
You pause, briefly, taking stock of the remaining contents of the fridge. The clamshell of greens that didn’t quite make it. The half-used block of cheese. A subtle wave of shame rises — small but persistent — cresting as you imagine your child saying, or your partner thinking, “We’re having this again?”
