Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend...

“Ingratitude is treason to mankind.” James Thomson

Tuesday 4 May 2010

How bad is this exactly?

I read Angry Chicken pretty regularly, and this post hit me squarely in the lunch part of my brain, so I hastily assembled the last three or four items left in our cupboard from before our holiday (yes, I know that was almost a month ago and I am supposed to be at the supermarket right now) to try it out. As I chopped up the tofu, I noticed the date on the packet, which was not really anywhere near any recent date ...on any recent calendar. I checked out the jar of tom yum paste (added for extra flavour) and that too was, well, I'll just call it old and draw a veil. Noodles - ditto. The miso paste may have moved house with me; I have lived here for almost two years. The combined age of these items beyond their expiry, were they added up and translated into human years, would be almost old enough to ride their bicycles to school without adult supervision.

So: soup in bowl, ready to eat, all ingredients well beyond their sell-by dates except for the greens, which came straight from the garden. (Surely that counts for something.)

Reader, I ate it. I considered googling the killer potential of each dodgy ingredient, felt too hungry, and started to feel the germ of a challenge making itself felt. I don't think I will die, but maybe the shrimps in the tom yum paste will give me the swollen face syndrome again.

And it was fine, if not quite as intensely savoury and delicious as I had hoped. (Considering the ingredients, my expectations may have been too high.) I am going through a reluctant junk food phase in that I am both too tired to cook and I can't seem to make anything sufficiently stimulating to really want to cook. This is in the wake of last Friday night, which resulted in both a crushing hangover and post-drunk humiliation (not enough recall to really understand what happened but just enough to know I said some stupid stuff to people I was trying to make new friends with and now I am just trying to not think about it too much until sufficient time has passed for me to stop cringing and groaning). Saturday was inevitably a junk food day, to soothe the stomach and the psyche. Sunday I couldn't get away from the junk food, and Monday I was still in the grips of some kind of post-something syndrome, because my need for salty and savoury was great. Pizza seemed like just the thing

I know Time Out has just named this place the best in London and in the wake of that review they are struggling to keep up, but really, I'm not sure it's as good as this place. Plus, there was a strange kind of odd vibe, like there was a timetable for the next round of pizzas, and I arrived maybe five minutes later than the prescribed 7:15 pizza collection time and was told off for being late for my order, as in "If it isn't good, don't blame us." I thought, if it is cold I won't blame you, but if it isn't good, I will probably go back to my old place where they don't give you a five minute quality window. So my experience was coloured by that.

My experience was also altered somewhat by the face that I was apparently developing a cold sore, which, pardon me but what the fuck?, I have never ever ever experienced in all of 42 years. Certainly in that time, I have been not infrequently tired and run-down, and from time to time I have been sleep-deprived, jetlagged and hungover. So, and I'm sorry to repeat myself here, but what the fuck? It started with sore little cracks at the side of my mouth, like when you eat too many oranges or if you have a bug and get dehydrated. I thought that was what it was (hello hangover!), and one side began to feel like it had a shard of broken glass stuck in it, and when I looked closely in the mirror, I could see the little blisters. It is swollen like a motherfucker too, still. I keep slathering it with ChapStik and vitamin e and flipping Germolene because I have somehow managed to have the only household in Christendom without a tub of Vaseline. And I have washed my hands every five minutes since it started. Did you know you can get cold sores on your fingertips? (You're welcome. I like to spread the joy.)

And in other news, I just ate some of an old Easter bunny and now I do in fact feel a little queasy.

Tell me that your weekend was better (by which I mean that I urge you to tell me your weekend was as tragic as mine - misery really does love company!).


  1. my weekend was fine, thank you, although sadly lacking in alcoholic consumption. today, however, was grand. i just stabbed a patient in the face and then attempted to take the sting out by rinsing her mouth out with water, only to get her entire face sopping wet. the fright of first stabbing her and then drowning her was so great that i dropped the suction necessary to get the water out. in the end we all survived, but it wasn't pretty and i really really really had to work hard not to holler: "what the fuckety fuck is going on?" which is not considered professional.

  2. Wow. Thank you Polish Chick for putting it all in perspective.
    When I were a young'un training to be a hairdresser, I was applying some neutraliser to the mere three or four perm rods on the top of a gentleman's head (for volume! it was the 80s) and couldn't see the point of wrapping them in a ton of cotton wool like you were supposed to (there were only a few there for god's sake, what could go wrong?) and the tiny bit of neutraliser ran STRAIGHT into his eye. Panic! Profuse apology! (Also? I explained that it's mainly made of peroxide and watered-down shampoo, so it wouldn't blind him. I hope that didn't take any weight out of the apology.)
    Which is a long-winded way of saying I'm sure your patient is fine, but it sounds like it was more traumatic for you.

  3. My weekend was better, although I did get drunk, I didn't insult anyone. I consoled my hangover with a fritter, & then later, another fritter that was saved for the Husband.

    Coldsore: take Lysine. In tablets. Lots of them. I am sorry that your mouth is in bad shape. I was thiking of flying to London to kiss you, but now the deal is off.

    Out of date food stuffs: You should never read labels or directions. Ever.

  4. Thank you Stephen for your advice. I'm glad I caught you before you got on a plane to come and kiss this gnarled old blistered toad. I will be dosing myself with lysine forthwith.

    Well done for getting drunk without pissing anyone off. My remark was just offhand silly gibberish about someone's name, just for something to say I think. The real problem was that she was far more sober than I was. I hope she learned her lesson.