Okay, okay. After reading this, I give up. Foods marked “organic” may be anything, probably not organic. Even the USDA Certified Organic label is more in question than I previously suspected. Oh, fuck it.
We’re eating poison. We knew that, right? Of course we did. The alternative is to stop eating. Most are not willing to go that route. So in the matter of food, just what the hell are we supposed to do?
I just made a big pot of spaghetti. I used store brands for every ingredient: traditional pasta sauce, ground Italian sausage, meatballs and grated cheese. My spell check won’t allow me to write the name of the cheese but I’m sure you can guess, and no, it is not “parietal” as the keyboard insists.
You really can’t go wrong with spaghetti, though; I mean, your toughest task is to cook the noodles all dental–
Fucking spell check is racist. No, you don’t cook noodles that way. I mean, you know, not cooking them until they’re mush. Spell check has been around long enough that it should work, you know? Fuck.
I want to bake cookies for Christmas this year. I’ve never baked cookies or a cake. I’ll need recipes. No snicker doodles, either. I’m smart enough not to try for the pinnacle of human achievement my first time out with a cookie sheet. I want shortbread and sugar cookies. And cookie cutters in Christmas tree and reindeer and Santa shapes. With red and green sprinkles. That’s not asking too much, is it? I mean, I have baked before. Uh, biscuits like Pillsbury makes. And cornbread that came in a box but tasted nothing whatsoever like cornbread.
Okay, so I’m not a cook. Once I had to throw out a whole slow cooker. There was no fucking way I was going to clean whatever the shit was that had nothing to do with the ingredients I had started out with. I threw up when I opened up the lid to check the progress of my uh, dish. I even doubled the bag and took it to the dumpster so the vultures wouldn’t catch the scent, move in and accidentally kill themselves. It would be sad. And a bunch of dead turkey vultures around the dumpster might have had people asking questions. That idea freaked me out.
Of course, I made that surreptitious walk to the trash late at night. Vampire hours, you know. Hoping no neighbors would see me and later connect me with the smell in the trash. I had to take extra nerve medication that morning. I broke into a cold sweat every time someone took out their trash. Until the fork truck came and lifted the dumpster high over the truck’s body, I was a mess.
You know how Quint in the movie Jaws swears he’ll never put on a life jacket again? Well I’ll never use a slow cooker again. And having said that, considering what happened to Quint, now I’ll live in fear of slow cookers showing up and chasing me.
***
I am good with sandwiches though. Quick, easy breakfast? Bacon and egg on white with mayo, works every time. A slice of tomato with salt and pepper is a nice addition. Killer submarine sandwich? Try this.
On a 12-inch roll, spread some mayo. Line it from one end to the other with mild cheddar or American cheese, then repeat with P&P loaf, bologna, pepper ham, cotton (Cotto!) salami (damn spell check), olive loaf, red pepper spread, shredded lettuce, tomatoes. If you’re game, beef pastrami is a nice accent. Be sure your last will and testament is up to date.
But my culinary compromisation is not mitigated by mere sandwiches. I can cook mean steaks. I can’t use a grill, but a skillet does just fine. My choice is always a ribeye. Low and slow, covered. I don’t time or use a thermometer; I always know when it’s just right.
Soup is time consuming. I cook in layers, no more than two ingredients at a time. I never combine carrots and celery in the same pot. The simple trick is to only combine all of the cooked ingredients and their stock in the final cook, which is a slow simmer.
What I want the most is Christmas cookies right now. How do I even start? Do I need a mixer? Do I grease the sheet? Will the flour be organic or full of Roundup? If I eat a dozen before Christmas, how long before I die, and will I be able to sue? Hey, you remember Sue Bee honey butter? Worst. Idea. Ever. Not counting TV weather foreclosures (forecasters!) Fucking spell check!
How about it, then? Anyone out there feeling a bit charitable, want to give an asshole some easy way to bake Christmas cookies?
Nah. I didn’t think so.
But I had to try.
Memoirs of an American Asshole 