Look, I tend to make a lot of bad decisions. That's all. No "buts" here! Just stating a fact. Okay, one but -- but tonight I plan on making the good decision of making this post all about food. In a good way. Good food. Good food memories, what I crave, and maybe even one or two or five photos of a cat dressed up a hot dog costume. It is high time, partner, that I become excited about and interested in food again. And these recollections and admissions might help.
Let me start with macaroni and cheese. One should always start with macaroni and cheese. Imagine a restaurant that serves complimentary mac & cheese brought out to you in bottomless buckets. Snack on bright orange noodles while you peruse the menu. Anyway, when I walk around the park by my house, there is one particular spot which always smells like Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. It's odd as fuck, excuse my French. (Macaroni and cheese in French is macaroni et fromage. Sophisticated!) I love walking past that mysterious spot because it instantly takes me back to when I was in preschool. I would be over at Trevor's haunted house watching Land Before Time and playing with our Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles when we'd pause to eat lunch. Lunch, as far as I can recall, was always Kraft Mac & Cheese in plastic bowls with a plastic tumbler full of 1% milk. There may have been a cookie or crumpet or whatever after, but what I remember the most is the mac & cheese and how I would place one noodle on each tine of the fork (tine! that's what they are called! promise!). That's how I would eat it. Cute, sure, but mostly just a weird Little Meg compulsion. Salt, pepper, and cheesy noodles. I was in heaven. And for some reason the plastic bowl gave it a distinct smell, a smell which can be found at any given time of the day in a city park in Orem, Utah.
Ugh. That took too long to write. And I'm sure it was no picnic to read. Speaking of picnics, I remember going on one with my good friend Annie up in Salt Lake. Two years ago? Something like that. We went to Harmons and purchased super overpriced salads from the salad bar and took them to Brigham Young's grave and had ourselves a feast. Well, kind of. We ended up getting kicked out by some terribly pleasant missionaries because it was closin' time at Brig's grave. That was okay, though, because it was windy and cold and sometimes ghosts don't go so well with Gouda cheese. I don't remember much of the salad because, well, it was just a salad, but I do remember that I was able to be with another human and share food. Something so basic, so ancient, yet so foreign to me now. I hope to get back to that place someday soon -- that place where food is enjoyed in the company of friends and dead Mormon prophets.
I have time for one more memory before I bore myself to death. KFC. That's right, Kentucky Fried Chicken. If there are three things I love in this world, it is the state of Kentucky, fried anything, and chickens. (In actuality, I can only tolerate one of those three things! Take a guess!) When I was, oh you know, a child, my favorite meal was the classic KFC crispy drumstick, corn on the cob, and buttermilk biscuit. I know it was my favorite mostly due to the fact that anytime we ate it, it was up in the canyon with my family and we were celebrating something. I'm beginning to notice a pattern; food is best when eaten with those you love. Cheeeesy, but pretty damn true. Oh, to be young and carefree and not give a rat's ass that you are eating crappy fried fast food. In fact, you are enjoying it! When oh when did I forget that food should be enjoyed and not feared?
And thus concludes Meg's Food Memories for tonight! I didn't even get around to discussing what I crave, but I did get around to finding these enchanting photos. Enjoy! Enjoy it all!