We have different schedules, me and the German. He has overnight business trips during the week, and I am gone for weeks at a time, so one or the other of us is often home alone. This leaves us a wealth of opportunity to discover a food surprise and wait days or weeks to find out what the procurer’s interntions were in bringing it home. It also tends to make us highly suspicious of the age of the milk in the fridge.
Here is a smattering of items that I probably should have left instructions for:
A lump of what, if defrosted, would turn out to be beet soup,
10 pounds of surprisingly spicy frozen roasted green chiles,
Any number of cactus salsas, mesquite jellies, and habanero/peach chutneys that run the gamut from delicious to completely inedible,
A beautifully red and juicy-looking unripe persimmon.
Tobias, in his turn, has left the following:
an ungodly number of chocolate pudding packets, unsweetened and marketed to adults rather than children,
a huge can of peas that expired in the year 2000,
several kinds of… fragrant… hard cheeses, including one that I would have mistaken for wood if it wasn’t wrapped in cheese paper, and one that is quite clearly a joke thought up by the trick food department of the company that makes real-smelling fake dog poop,
tiny bottles of dark sauce in the shape of Koi fish that I haven’t had the guts to try yet.
We never get around to asking about or explaining these things, though, because we’re too busy having the following conversation:
B – Is this the same 1/2 bottle of terrible white wine that was in the fridge last time I was here?
T – Don’t throw it away, we can use it.
B – But we’re not going to drink it, right?
T – Yes, but don’t waste it. We can cook with it.
B – But you wouldn’t want to eat anything that tasted like that, would you?
T – No, but don’t waste it.
B – …(what do you say to that?! Nothing, Ms. Wastey Wastes A Lot. That’s what.)