I don’t maintain a kitchen that lends itself to haphazard throwing together of ingredients. While my fridge door is well stocked with mustards, chutneys and the like, and my cupboards full of random sauces and useful appliances, peruse the contents of the body of my fridge and you’ll probably leave disappointed.
I can generally guarantee only a few items:
One of those little containers of milk that’s probably going bad after I used ¼ cup for a recipe a week ago
A bag of carrots and celery – begging to be peeled, sliced and prepped for lunches and recipes
Some red peppers from pick ‘n save – one of which, without fail, will be rotten on the inside despite being purchased two days ago
An egg carton – filled in varying degrees depending on the past few weeks
Cilantro – that I can’t for the life of me figure out how to keep fresh for past Wednesday
It’s obviously at least marginally better than a bachelor’s fridge full beer and lunch meat, but there aren’t too many combinations of the above that produce a stunning recipe outside of stew, a strange take on stir fry or juevos rancheros*.
No. My week of dinners is neither chaotic nor spontaneous. Specific ingredients are purchased, extras from one used to doctor up another and, by the end of the week the fridge looks ravaged and defeated. And, after a bout of finding ingredients, purchased on a whim** having gone bad too quickly, my pantry may be well stocked but my fridge is as empty as I prefer the walls of my apartment to be***. I know what’s in each drawer, every Tupperware container and even what’s hidden way back in the far corner behind the pineapple****. I like being able to picture the ingredients at hand and avoid reaching into the vegetable drawer to find a bag full of gelatinous goo that I can’t exactly decipher anymore.
This method is convenient enough***** unless you decide to play the role of thoughtful boyfriend and attempt to surprise me on one of those fateful Tuesday nights by making dinner. Then you’d open the fridge door, curl your lip, scratch your freshly shaven head and wisely close the door knowing that if you throw something together (however delicious) there’s a chance that you’ll muck up my plans for Friday dinner. You’d weigh your options and then carefully proceed with your plan to make your girlfriend as jubilant as one can be after a long a day and seriously appreciate what an awesome dude she has decided to shack up with.
The Dude’s Tuesday Night Special
Cell phone
Debit Card (sometimes he’ll substitute cash, depending on his mood)
A chinese takeout menu from the last time you ordered
* the dude has somehow developed an aversion toward breakfast foods for dinner . . . while I sit, yearning for the summers of my youth when , for 2 weeks each summer, even our proximity to the lake couldn’t cut through the stifling heat and my mother, full of dread at the prospect of adding another 350 degrees to our already irritable discomfort, would victoriously offer a dinner composed of sliced peaches, apple sauce and a mountain of pancakes (my preferred variation being a dozen bite size syrup- sponges.)
**with a ridiculous promise to myself that I’d find a new recipe and go shopping midweek to collect whatever additional items were required.
*** try melding your self-identified ‘minimalist’ decorating strategy with that of an incredibly talented artist dude with an unsurprising knack for finding and purchasing excellent pieces and artist friends who both trade and gift their own art for his. Don’t get me wrong – there’s no picture nor sculpture in our apartment that I don’t at least like . . but my preference for white walls and clean space has been eclipsed and I’ve relinquished all control to him.
**** that SERIOUSLY needs to go into lunches tomorrow before it gets that weird effervescent quality.
***** Unless it’s Friday and I’ve completely forgotten what the remaining red pepper, sage and ginger were meant to accompany
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