We recently returned home from vacation to an oddly behaving fridge. It just didn’t seem cold enough. Being a homosexual household, we don’t have a lick of electrical expertise between the two of us. Several calls to Dad and repairmen later, we were tasked with defrosting the fridge for repairs.
I wasn’t sad about the death of the thingymajig heating coil. However, I have been quietly mourning the loss of my condiment collection. And so in their memory, I offer this eulogy for my dearly departed friends…
First, the Asian contingent: two-year old plum sauce, a half jar of red curry paste, Chinese Black Vinegar (barely used…I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was supposed to do), hoisin sauce, which I always liked saying (wah-seen) but never really cared for.
Then, the cream-based condiments: an entire “jar” of olive oil mayonnaise, milk (you have no idea how gross that was…total dry heave!), cream (surprisingly not bad), yogurt, cream cheese (it was probably four years old anyway), and various and sundry Ranch-related dressings.
And finally, the oddities: that package of corn tortillas from two Cinco De Mayos ago, the sun-dried tomatoes from Jesus’ first birthday, a bag of what probably were at one time radishes, and that petite jar of caviar that David’s mom gave him back in 1987.
The garbage bag was fifty pounds when I was done. I dragged it through the kitchen like a dead body, then carried it out the back like a sick dog. And oh, it began to leak down my leg. “Oh God,” I thought to myself, “there’s no telling what that is!”
So now, I have a fridge only a bachelor would recognize. And while the purge was cathartic, and a wonderful opportunity to kick out some saucy squatters, I must say I will miss that tablespoon of plum jelly just waiting for the right recipe.
But with death comes new life. And my darling Publix awaits…