4 posts tagged “food”

Desparate for food, I walked into a local grocery store and demanded to myself that I find food.

Hunger was setting in. And who might stand in MY way?

There was a line a mile long at the fried chicken counter. Pass that up. Next, I spy the salad bar, but I wanted something quick and hot. Hot soup.

I spied the flavors du jour as the French might sass. Two favorites: the tomato, and the broccoli with cheddar. I wanted the tomato.

But the bitch was there. Mind you, she was a nice "girl," getting soup. She was standing in the middle with the chili. She was making a royal mess. I edged in, I was not going to wait for her.

And yet, she only moved a tad further away, then an inch more, now totally obscuring the beloved tomato soup.

"Move outta here! Beotch!" I screamed. Inside my head, of course. Just "clean up your damned mess, and get out, I want the tomato soup."

I looked at her. Pathetically looked at her. She, herself, was a pathetic mess. She had dribbled the soup all over herself, the cup, the counter, everywhere. She was a nightmare. A bumbling idiot. A moron. A morass of disappointment, when it came to soup service. I only grew more angry, more hungry.

A settled for a small broccoli, and a small salad. By the time I was dredging my salad in copious "glugs" of spicy salad dressing, she was still cleaning up her mess.

Let's review.

I encountered an idiot tonight, holding up, and restricting access to hot soup. She should have been laughing at herself. Resign herself to no soup. She should have had enough self respect to throw it all away, take a free cup of water, and just sit there. Contemplating her stupidity.

Take a break without a meal. Think about her wrongs.

It wouldn't have killed her. And I would have had tomato soup instead of broccoli.

I am not sure why I'd go to a blog to talk about a possible episode of depression, but hey, why not?

Today I got an itch i get from time to time, to buy something. I don't think the issue is buying stuff. The issue is an underlying depresion which manifests an urge to go buy something ot make myself feel better.

And when I couldn't find anything I really desired, the next thought that came to mind was to just eat something. Eat well, mind you, and satisfy my sadness in food.

I abstained. But now it's time for dessert, and I'm eating some tiramisu. It is absolutely delicious. It may just be the perfect thing to take your mind off of trouble and endulge.

Yum.

It is a wholly, soul-reaching satisfaction in a spoon.

Today at work, while eating lunch, someone opened the refrigerator in our kitchen, and said "Holy Moly! That's the biggest sausage I ever saw!" We all peered sheepishly inside, to find the world's longest Hickory Farms summer sausage. "If I had known about that summer sausage, I would never have bought a lunch," one lady said. I echoed the same thought, although I harbored it silently as I chewed my sandwich. "That's enough meat to feed a small army," I mused, as others scrupulously eyed the accompanying sweet and spicy Hickory Farms-branded mustards. "The benefits company brought us that, along with a truckload of cheese." Cheese and sausage, it reminded me of our high school marching band fund raisers.

Except that sausage stunk, and the cheese was rancid.

I said to the ensemble before leaving the table: "Perhaps for an afternoon snack today, I ought to have some of that summer sausage!" "Uh, huh!" they proclaimed, much like praisers of Jesus at a religious rally of born-agains.

As the afternoon approached, and I returned to the area where the same coworkers congregated, I eyed one, who asked "Are you going to break into that big summer sausage?" Since I was coaxed, I yelled back, "Why not?"

They all ran after me, like kids on a playground. I wrestled the large summer sausage from the refrigerator. Sitting now on the table, we all admired its giant size. Not only was it long, but this was no pepperoni... it was prodigious in every direction.

Summer sausages have a thick, outer casing you don't eat. I fished around in the drawer for a knife. Damn! Every knife was smooth like butter. Butter knives, that is. I wrestled this large, wood-handled, wide steel knife from the drawer, but it was no match for the sausage. It was devoid of any blade, as if some metalsmith had practiced smoothing techniques with any blade that once existed. You couldn't cut anything with this knife, you might as well have called it a pastry knife for spreading pastry creams on dry-crumb cupcakes.

"I'll find you a knife!" yelled a hungry secretary, who managed to find a small, yet able black-handled Ginzu-style steak knife. "It's the only knife left with teeth!" I proclaimed, as I held it to the light to admire this newfound cutlery.

"Slice that bad boy open!" another woman yelled, hungry for moist slices of the encased sausage. First I split the waxy outer hull, and then began to cut slice after slice of the summer sausage on the plate, each one glistening with either moisture or fat. 

Fingers immediately began flashing before my eyes, as different on-lookers skirted with death and finger injury as they all fought for the next succulent slice of summer sausage. "Mmmmm," they bemoaned in pleasure, chewing with both élan and passion. "No one makes a summer sausage like Hickory Farms!" "Oh yes, this is quite a fine sausage..."

I was so shocked that slice after slice, they disappeared. As the Ginzu felt as if it was finally losing its cut and pull across the meaty cylinder, the fingers subsided, the passionate hunger settled, and I was able to finally procure my own private slices.

I then packaged the sausage back up, for the refrigerator, and augmented the plate with a trio of special mustards. It was a fitting snack. And all free!

I walked into the hall, with this platter of freshly-sliced summer sausage and the extra-fancy accouterment of mustards, and down the stairs in my lair of work. As I troubleshooted technical issues and took business calls, I gingerly yet freely placed slice after mustard-coated slice of summer sausage in my mouth, too-appreciating its special qualities that make summer sausage an especially tasty treat.

Who knew so many folks loved the venerable meat snack that is the summer sausage. As the mustards out-lived the slices of sausage, I began to muse as to why it was called "summer sausage" in the first place. I found that summer sausages are cooked (not dried) like hot dogs, and can last for weeks in a good refrigerator. Now we know, thanks to my personal butler, Jeeves. Must have been the $63 Gold Miner.

My friends' parents came for a visit this evening, and I was invited to cook the meal.