For the last month I’ve been canvassing my work’s freezer in order to steal any frozen meals that might be in there to sustain me during the summer of my unemployment.
As far as I was concerned it was a brilliant plan.
Freezer #1 – normal looking, filled with steal-ables
Freezer #2 – second verse, same as the first (only better, this one has yogurt).
Look at all of that delicious (sort of delicious…free makes everything delicious, so whatever. It’s edible) food.
And then a mysterious wrench was thrown in my plan
Right there? That’s six frozen Stouffer’s Cream Chipped Beef ready meals. Six. Six of them. The day before there was NO food in that freezer. The next day? Six. And of something that traditionally isn’t even a food eaten outside of breakfast. Also, it’s gross looking.
And they’ve remained in there for over a week. They all arrived in one day and not a single one has been consumed.
So now I can’t be sure that my two office nemeses haven’t heard my plan to steal all of the food (I wasn’t exactly speaking in hushed whispers about my malfeasants) and brought in all of this chipped beef in which to poison me.
I’m still going to steal it though.
UPDATE Three of the creamed chipped beefs are now gone! (May 20, 2013 10:23 EST)
Have you ever opened a tin of leftovers only to find the tables’ worth of cutlery inside because the previous week during a “cleaning spree” you had thrown away all of your previously owned knives and forks (let’s be fair I only owned one of both, but still it was trying to eat pasta without them)?
Tofu burrito, fries, and cutlery. Huzzah!
Thank you, Mad Mex, I don’t have to eat pasta with my hands this week.
Filed under cooking, food
From my very limited understanding of history, the last days of Rome were a rough place to be: hedonism, theft, moral malaise. And while I gathered these opinions about the civilization’s decline following a less than five minute Google search, I can confidently say that my declining juncture at my job is probably similar.
Or maybe not. But I am stealing everything that isn’t nailed to the ground. The most eccentric theft to date pertains to my aggressive love of hot sauce.
Some nice person left out a communal hot sauce for the lunch room, and while I appreciate the spirit of generosity I more greatly appreciate free condiments. However, I couldn’t just take the bottle of hot sauce in broad (albeit florescent) daylight. So, I did what every crazy person would do.
I dumped half the bottle of hot sauce into the remains of a Herr’s pretzel bag
And my lunch then consisted of:
it consisted of pretzels, a bag of stolen hot sauce in an old pretzel bag, and – what the hell – I stole a packet of cream cheese for the fun of it
Next up: trying to thieve the vending machine.
My friends and I had been hearing only the best things about this Korean restaurant in Northeast Philadelphia. It seemed like we couldn’t walk ten paces without someone enthusiastically telling us to go to this place and get the fried chicken wings. GET THE CHICKEN WINGS.
So we went and amidst great confusion got the wings. It might not seem a great trial to order fried chicken wings (for a normal person’s life). But this might clarify why we ordered with shaky voices, “the chicken wings?” (waitstaff love nothing more than when you phrase your food order as a question):
That’s the menu. Is the hot lady a meal option? She’s both “sweet AND hot.”
The wings were mother fucking delicious. Because the wings might be people. And, dammit, people wings are fucking delightful.
The other night I decided to make nachos as a celebratory meal for finishing a Tuesday well done. And also because I feel less pathetic cooking dinner for one (plus cats) when it’s a featured item on the Chili’s menu.
Some people think “nachos” and this is what is brought to their imagination:
whoever made this is a miracle worker of culinary proportions
I make a less traditional nacho, comprised of only two ingredients:
This is more my speed
After throwing those into the broiler there are some that might diligently wait by the oven and wait for the cheese to melt and then proceed with feasting. But I am not some, and instead walked to my local 7-11 to get additional grocery-like supplies.
I returned to a miniature conflagration in my kitchen.
Since I paid attention in grade school I knew that I needed to get a fire extinguisher right quick. I ran to my hallway to grab it and that is where I found:
As it turns out, a fire extinguisher two years expired doesn’t work on a molten mass of flaming triscuits. So I did what any person would do. I grabbed six towels, opened the window, and threw the firey food into the softly falling snow.
And then I left a PSA where the expired fire extinguisher used to be for my landlord to see