Thoughts From the Kitchen…

So I was in the kitchen the other day.  A bunch of stuff ran through my head.  These are some of those thoughts, pretty much as they occurred to me.

I never know how much plastic wrap I have left. It’s so thin! And clear! And there are some things it absolutely will not “cling” to. Ever try to put that shit on a paper plate? Good fucking luck. I have three congealing hot dogs on a goddam paper plate and I might as well throw a tarp over it. I feel like the coroner at a crime scene…”somebody notify this frank’s family. He’s already got that cold greasy shit all over.”

pigs in a blanket

Hot diggity dog!


Which reminds me. What better gauge is there for whether a food is good for you? Look at it in the fridge the next day. If, like hot dogs, it’s covered with pale jelly-like stuff, it’s probably not too good for you. It’s so bad, in fact, that the fat itself is trying to escape. Grilled chicken looks good the next day.Hot dogs? Not so much. On the flip side, you really can’t tell with frozen foods. Ever looked at a frozen chicken breast? Unbreaded? Looks like a goddam pastry. “Honey, why did you freeze these bear claws?”

More food observations. Why is it that some people refuse to eat the crust of a pizza, but will eat a hundred breadsticks. DIPPED IN PIZZA SAUCE. And cheese?

Some people call “grilled cheese” sandwiches “cheese toasty.” these people should be avoided at all costs.

One day I plan on strapping two boxes of Franzia wine to either side of my head with duct tape, sort of like those beer helmets, only much classier. Once my terrifying boxed wine contraption/cosplay is in place, ima head down to Fazoli’s, kick the door open, and yell “I’M DON CORLEONE, MOTHERFUCKERS! AND I’D BETTER GET UNLIMITED BREADSTICKS UP IN THIS BITCH!”

The first Google image search for "Grandma's fridge."

True story, I used to live in Evansville, Indiana and some co-workers and I would frequent this one particular Fazoli’s. We went regularly to this Fazoli’s not because of its location or superior pasta. We went because of Breh Girl. Breh Girl was an employee of this Fazoli’s.
She was maybe in her early twenties. It’s hard to know exactly, because there seemed to be a number of things, well…wrong with Breh Girl. In fact, her name derived from the word she said when she came around with the breadsticks. She’d ask “breh?” and you replied either “yes, please” or “no, thank you” because you’re a polite motherfucker, naturally. Then she’d smile, say “Okay!” and go about her rounds. The greatest thing about Breh Girl was her amazing super-powered Bread Sense (or Breh Sehn) that alerted her whenever someone was in need of fresh breadsticks. It was amazing. I’d be halfway through my baked ziti and realize “I haven’t properly rationed my bread! I wonder if there’s–” BAM! Breh Girl was at my side.

“Breh?” Oh, yes, ma’am! “Okay!”


Pictured: breh

She was like Spider Man and the Flash rolled into one. She was amazing. And what was totally awesome to me was that she obviously had some things working against her. Physical and perhaps (likely) mental handicaps. But god damn, she worked her ass off (and well, might I add) for several years. There are a lot of able-bodied, healthy people out there who find excuses not to work. Not Breh Girl. She rocked. And props to Fazoli’s, too. They hired her and kept her on, and I’ll bet she got “Employee of the Month” a few times. Good for Fazoli’s.

Even if they did pay her entirely in breh.