When a food-drive bag appeared in my mailbox last week, I didn't think about it.
That is, until a few hours later, when several factors arose.
First, I was hungry. Often, when hunger strikes, I eat food prepared by others (most likely wearing name tags) who cheerfully hand me dinner through a window.
However, I was broke. This is nothing new, but somehow I became "more broke."
Additionally, The Girlfriend is out of the country. (No kidding.) She normally does the cooking, preferring that I do not touch anything in the kitchen except the microwave -- and even then, never without supervision.
So, while scrounging around the apartment just hours after she had left, I discovered that all of my food required effort.
Faced with the above factors, I got cocky.
"Cooking is easy. The Iron Chef does it all the time. I can do this," I thought.
I had macaroni and cheese. In one broad stroke, I had a complete meal in a box -- one that would last me the whole day if I wanted -- so I foolishly began to cook.
Then I saw the beans.
One can of red beans leered at me from the open cabinet. I don't remember buying these beans. I don't know how they got there. I also don't know what came over me. I poured the beans into another pot.
I imagined delightful dishes that I have no idea how to prepare. Chili and chili mac were the first (read: only) ideas.
To the beans I added chili sauce, chili powder, garlic pepper sauce and a teaspoon of my roommate's whiskey, which (as of this sentence) is news to him.
Side note: Why is it that when men make anything resembling chili, culinary experimentation happens? The preparation of any other dish (flame-charred meat is not a dish) repels most men to the garage. Why chili?
Answer: Chili has no mandatory ingredients. Beans, meat or tomato sauce -- it can all be switched around. When a man makes chili, all bets are off. Hide the cat.
Back to the story:
A smell moved through the apartment, as though a Mexican food-eating demon had belched, then blown it around like an annoying older brother.
Still, I carried on, determined to create a delicious dish.
The result: I had macaroni and cheese ready to go, along with what I now call "My Ill-Advised Bean Experiment."
Cocky to the end, I spooned some of the Bean Experiment onto my plate and sampled it.
That was dumb.
I kid you not -- it tasted like burning tires. I ate my macaroni, but kept giving in to the deceit of my own pride and eating more of the Bean Experiment, trying to convince myself that it tasted good.
After a few attempts, I picked up the Bean Experiment and threw it out. I was frustrated. Then I saw the food drive bag (remember that?).
"Somewhere, hungry people could have a home-cooked meal," I thought. "I could be helping out."
So, my demon-belch-burning-tire chili caused a revelation.
Away to my cabinet I flew like a flash. What a divine message:
"Give your food away before you screw it up, you tool."
So, if you can't cook, fling open those cabinets. Set your food free.
A hungry person (other than you) will be thankful.
Write to John at kingseyeland@bsu.edu
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