Eeech. Dread Sunday is almost here, the day before Dread Monday. Back to the salt mines.
What I need to try to address tomorrow, before returning to the Land of Cogs, is the enormous amount of short glass jars that live eternally in my refrigerator. They have multiplied to the extent that there is no longer any room for food in there. I have been smashing loaves of bread on top of the milk gallons.
I cannot bear to throw any of them away. There are gourmet mustards, gourmet jams and jellies, rich concentrates of curry, garlic, tomato, roasted red pepper, wasabi, horseradish, lemon and other densely flavored basils, huacatay, and ají. There are fine salad dressings for every discerning palate, tartar sauces, seafood sauces, BBQ sauce, hoisin, Asian plum sauces, cherry and cranberry seasoning goop and god knows what else.
I have room for a dozen eggs, mashed bread, two milks, and some sugar-free jello. WTF.
We have to buy fresh food constantly, cook it and eat it right away because there is no room to store it. I don’t have room for leftovers unless I smash those in with the odd fresh item in the bottom drawers. At Thanksgiving, and thank the gods it was cold enough, we put the turkey in the middle of the covered hot tub outside, so the dogs wouldn’t get to it, until we could stuff and shove it in the oven.
I remember the culture shock of visiting friends in NYC in the 60’s and every day they bought fresh stuff, but they had nothing in the refrigerator. Their view was also the brick wall of the building opposite them. And this was Riverside Drive. Karl Malden lived in that building, I know because I rode with him in the elevator. I could never look at him in a film again without knowing he had that same brick view.
I am a condiment hoarder. I am like those people on TV whose children visit and cry when they have to walk on top of the boxes and random paraphernalia. Only my abundance resides in a cold dark place. At least nobody can walk in there.