Oh my friends, this week is not going well. The other night I chanced it with a dubious looking courgette and that didn't go in my favour. That went through me like a tsunami. The thing is that I've not being shopping for an age because my wife is on bear patrol in the Rockies and I can't drive the car because I have the attention span of a midge so the fridge is getting more and more interesting. There's stuff in the bottom drawer that has evolved to point of sentience. Close it and leave us alone, it says. Oh and turn out the bloody light.
I have just risked an inventory and discovered some parmesan cheese that's yet to get lively, a jar of mayonnaise (best before July 15, but I'll assume that's 3015), a jar of wholegrain mustard that I bought the other week, a jar of semi-safe pickles, a cucumber, some limes, grapes, a peach, two mangoes, a lettuce that reminds me of a limp and drowned Ophelia, a couple of radishes and I'm sure I've not bought a radish for years, and some beetroot that promises to be good until November at which point its seething resentment boils over into purple rage. When beetroot goes bad. There's a load of beer, of course, a fridge is not a fridge without beer. There's imperial stout for pudding at least.
There's a meal of champions in there. I have some tins of tuna but opening one of those risks cat-geddon. I have to open two tins and throw one sacrificially out of the back door. There's some sweetcorn that's labelled in marker pen with 'don't even think about eating me'. My wife's handwriting is only legible when she's telling me not to do something. Muesli. I evidently eat a lot of muesli. A jar of harissa paste. Sundry rices and pasta. Quinoa, oh that died in May 2014. Do people eat quinoa or merely buy it so other people think they eat quinoa? I don't even know if I like it. I'm still smarting from the buckwheat kasha that started this thread, the one that tasted like soil from my own grave.
Beyond that it's the beer coffin (it's not an actual coffin, it's a trunk, but it's a perfect fit for my corpse, so when I pass my best-before date they can put me in it and bury out back under a pile of buckwheat kasha) which is admirably well stocked and the gin cupboard (you don't want to know how many bottles). The cocktail cabinet. It's like a wino heaven. Damnit, the Unicum is still in there.
I think I need a stiff drink before the another evening of perilous gastronomy. I should have gone to the pub.