Because this tangy sheet-pan number from Alison Roman could be a contender.

As a young (overworked, maybe arrogant) restaurant cook, I took “weeknight cooking” to mean the sort of lazy, phoned-in dishes you ate after work, the things you made just to stay alive when you were too exhausted to cook anything else. Limp spaghetti tossed with the dregs from a jar of sauce, two-day-old rice with an egg on it — all things I’ve happily eaten, but would now classify as “personal cooking,” not “weeknight cooking.”