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Home alone with quick unwholesome but eminently satisfying snacks
I am a lucky, well-fed man, living with the best cook in Southside Birmingham.
When we’re home together of an evening, Liz prepares special meals much the way a jazz musician does variations on a well-known ballad. They are always good and unique.
Liz prepares the food, then makes up the recipe. Like a Zen master.
On the other hand, when I am alone at home of an evening, I do my own jazz preparations for dinner.
Liz being away at a meeting, I’m faced with the instantly solvable challenge of finding something to eat. My approach to the prospect of dining alone is to grab food items at random, in the order I see them.
For instance:
Pop open a jar of pimiento-stuffed olives, try to hook them with a fork one or two at a time, and munch while I search for—what—a chunk of hard cheddar cheese, which I nibble along with the olives. When young, I would mimic my father, who liked nothing more than to open a can of sardines and reflectively chew them one at a time upon saltines. Note: I haven’t had sardines in years, so I’ll have to get some next time grocery-shopping occurs.
Another instant snack consists of greasy crunchy largest-size rippled potato chips, sinfully salty and topped with chunky salsa. As a kid, nothing could beat a peanut butter (crunchy) and mayonnaise and lettuce sandwich on light bread—never toasted—with crusts intact. A quick fix for any occasion. I should try that again some future night.
On an infrequent solo evening, just the thing would be a grilled cheese sandwich—whole wheat bread fried in butter with melted cheese atop and steamed tomato slices, dripping and hot enough to scorch the tongue. Haven’t done that in a long time. Maybe I should make a snack-bucket list.
One night, a can of cheap chili con carne mixed with crushed tomatoes, juice and all. Lots of ground pepper and sea salt added, and something crunchy to nibble on simultaneously, like Ritz Crackers. Note to myself: I can do that again one night when Liz isn’t around to watch.
OK, I could go on, but I think it should stop about here—right after I eat sliced cucumbers, skin and all…or one whole cucumber, peeled, which takes on the characteristics of a melon, which I guess it is, isn’t it? In the same category, at times just grabbing a large raw carrot and noisily eating it while dipping it into soft cream cheese or freshly made pimiento cheese is the perfect meal. Message to Jim: eat a balanced meal on all evenings that Liz is at home…and thank the unknown gods that she’s home most of the time.
For dessert, don’t forget dark chocolate-covered cashews. If you’re already full, save this for next time. Or save a handful for Liz, who deserves them after all these decades of imagining what I must eat when she’s not around.
All of these snack fantasies will evaporate from memory next time Liz makes meat loaf for dinner. Life will be complete for at least that evening.
Liz’s meat loaf, after all, is the Nectar of the Goddess
© Jim Reed 2014 A.D.