There comes a time when you need to eat leftovers for an entire week.

T he world is full of mighty controversies: the Sams Club versus Costco debate; will soccer ever really catch on in the U.S.?; can angels really dance on the head of a pin?; does the cream go on top of the jam, or vice versa? Today, I bring another such pressing question to your attention: What is to be done with leftovers?

Not Thanksgiving leftovers. Those are in a category all their own. The leftovers I speak of are yesterday’s sloppy joes, Sunday’s mashed potatoes, and Thursday’s roasted carrots. All the tempting flotsam and jetsam of a week’s meals, calling your name every time you open the fridge. While some people are strongly opposed to eating leftovers (or regularly feed so many people that leftovers are a rare occurrence), I have a deep affection for them. Of course, there’s always the little dish of broccoli that gets ignored, or the plate of oven-roasted potatoes that never tastes quite as good the second day — even when refried. But, growing up, my siblings and I were experts at either recreating a previous day’s meal for our lunch or using elements of it to concoct something new.

We learned, early on, to never, ever eat leftovers without first asking Mom for permission. This was a necessity of self-preservation on two counts: One, you didn’t know if Mom herself was looking forward to eating certain leftovers, and there was nothing like the burning shame you felt when you realized you’d eaten something she had been eyeing. Two, if there was still a large amount of some dish left, Mom probably was going to repurpose it for an upcoming dinner, so hands off.

Since living on my own, I’ve run into a different kind of leftover problem: having too much. I loathe food waste, so I’ll often freeze whatever I can’t eat, and it’s nice to know I have food on hand for when I’m tight on time and can’t go shopping. This all came to a head last week, however, when I was confronted with three realities: one, as a young single woman, I really can’t eat all that much food in a week; two, I’d been putting more into my freezer than I was taking out; and three, my incoming roommate might actually like some space in said freezer.

This freezer was an utter disaster. After my previous roommate moved out in February, I’d had free rein over the whole fridge, which resulted in fruit, drinks, and leftover containers sprawled across the lower section, and seven different types of frozen sauces in the freezer. And it wasn’t just sauces. Among the bags of flour, popsicles (because I’m a five-year-old at heart), and unlabeled Ziplocks of meat, there was no space for anything else.

My new roommate was scheduled to move in on a Sunday, so I had one week to clean up the fridge and eat my way through the freezer. And while I did say I loathe food waste, the prospect of eating only what was in my freezer and pantry (to save on my grocery bill) was a bit depressing. Undaunted, however, I started in.

First up was broccoli-cheddar soup. It was, as you might expect, an epic disaster. Long story short, I didn’t have as much frozen broccoli as I’d thought, it didn’t cook down nicely, the bag of chicken stock I pulled out to use leaked all over my fridge, and the cheese I put in at the end didn’t melt well. I’d been overconfident in my ability to make soup without a recipe, and my pride took a much-needed beating.

Lunch the next two days was beef stew. This reheated very nicely and, paired with some buttered saltines, made for a simple, quick meal. The only downside was that 85-degree weather and a steaming bowl of stew go together very poorly.

The best meal I made all week was one I had three times: meatballs and rice. Turn up your nose all you want, I was just determined to work with what I had on hand, and since I was the only one eating it, variety and looks didn’t matter as much. The meatballs were made from thawed hamburger patties mixed with breadcrumbs, one egg, heavy cream, garlic, and spices. A bit of onion, some more garlic, a little white wine, a dab of butter, and some more heavy cream made a nice sauce for them. The rice was, again, just another ingredient I had on hand and needed to use. I wouldn’t generally recommend this pairing, and suggest readers stick with pasta.

Next up? Chicken broth. During my freezer research, I’d unearthed two chicken carcasses and a few icy bags of broth. I decided to put it all in a pot with carrots, celery, and bay leaves (alas, I forgot to get an onion and accidentally skipped the garlic) and cover the lot with water. After adding in a few parmesan rinds for more flavor, simmering all morning, draining the solids out, and simmering for a few hours more, I was able to box up three tidy containers of broth, ready for the fall soup season.

I’d made it to Saturday by this point, subsisting on yogurt and toast for all my breakfasts and cucumbers and ranch for lunch, and since I could now open the freezer without its contents attacking me, I knew it was time to scrub everything out and rearrange.

There’s nothing like a clean fridge and organized freezer to make you want to meal plan, which I did with enthusiasm. There are still some odds and ends, such as tomato sauce, ham, and some peas, lurking in the freezer, but I finished the week with a clean conscience and space for my roommate’s food.

Well, slightly less space now. I really needed some ice cream.