Saddest Meal Ever

Over the last decade or more my mom could give a fuck about cooking. Gone are the days of fresh baked bread, photocheese soup, turnovers, perogs, truffles, porkchops, and swedish pancakes. Possibly this is because of my dad who could give a fuck about doing anything around the house in the way of chores. And also she's more of a baker than a cook. Culinary nuances, delights, surprises and different tastes do not appeal- but shortbread cookies have never gone out of style. i do not like shortbread cookies. I complained once to someone about my unquenchable need for culinary surprises and they suggested i go shopping for myself. And that is why I know I love eating food more than cooking it. Because even with money I won't do it myself. This goes beyond pure laziness. I want other people to be creative cooks for me. It's not that my mom has thrown in the towel completely- i get casseroles and bbq'd meat which i love.

So let me bring you to Monday night, when I return home, having abstained from getting food on the go, sort of hazarding a RARE bet there might be something in the fridge to eat. I come home to my mom adding kraftcheese mix to some fusilli spiral pasta and mixing it without milk or butter. she asks if i want some... she also points to some broken small bits of cauliflower. i shake my head. I grab the milk and butter and throw it into the pot. she shrugs. i hazard a taste. i say, "I'm sorry? I didn't know we were poor." Mom continues to stir the non-mac and cheese. She spoons it out, and puts parmesan cheese over it and pepper. "I can't even believe you're splurging on pepper. Can we afford to waste spices?"... Nevermind olive oil and garlic. The confluence of "I'm too stoned to dice fresh garlic or too poor to afford it," was too much for me. I grabbed 2 hotdogs out of the fridge and microwaved them- muttering about food stamps and the fresh sourdough bread i was going to have for dessert. I mean if we could afford the electricity to run the toaster, or maybe spreadable margarine.