OK, now I'm angry. The sort of biting-heads-off angry that tyrannosaurs get when you ask how they get things out of the fridge with those little arms. And why am I angry?
Tacos. That's why.
I like tacos. I got them lined up for my final meal on death row (it's not clear what I'll be on death row for yet, but if it happens, I'm finishing my innings on tacos). Admittedly, it's been pointed out that I can eat tacos without having to be awaiting execution. Ordinary Monday nights are fine and a less drastic approach to taco consumption. No murdering required. Mind you, criminality has always been pretty optional for inclusion on US death row.
I'm a bit lazy too but there's always been an idea shortcut to taco-ry, and that's Discover (now Santa Maria, cos she's the patroness saint of tacos) Taco Seasoning Mix. Really, chop up some animal part, add packet, sizzle, and you've got a very good and faff-free taco filling.
So, last night, I'm fomenting a taco salad, a unrighteous and riotous concoction of rice, sweetcorn and cheese with a passing acquaintance to salad (there's lettuce, tomato, peppers, cucumber and avocado – oh and some more cheese and did I mention sour cream, and tortilla chips) of which the centrepiece is spicy taco chicken. So I open to the packet. I'm sure the magic powder inside is a different colour, no longer paprika red but now out-of-control industrial process orange. Glance at packet. Fateful words resolve: new improved recipe. Anyone familiar with the phrase 'new improved recipe' will know that while it may be 'new' it's never 'improved'.
And it wasn't. Instead of spicy chicken, I got gloopy sweet chicken, same as you get with El Paso nasty tacos. Bah. Now I have make my own seasoning or find an alternative. The horror, the horror. I know #firstworldproblem but damn them to Hell and back.