Chilling Out

The above-ground cemeteries in New Orleans and many cities in Europe are constructed so that, after a body has been interred for a certain length of time, the crypt is reopened, and the remains are simply shoveled out the back to make room for another body. I wish I had a refrigerator like that.

My motto is: "Never do today what can be put off as long as possible." Last week, while looking for something I was sure was in my refrigerator (and still may well be, for all I know), I began what became something of an archeological dig through only one shelf. It started with the discovery of a half-full bottle of catsup which, I noted by looking carefully, expired in June of 2006. Considering that I did not move back to Chicago until September of 2006, I considered this something of an accomplishment. Behind the catsup cowered an opened package of sliced American Cheese which I at first mistook for small wall tiles with curled edges. There was also a block of aged cheese that I assumed from the color to be blue cheese but discovered was actually sharp cheddar, and it hadn't been aged when it first went in. There were several carefully aluminum-foil-wrapped chunks of something, none of which had any sort of markings to indicate what they might contain. I chose not to find out.

Two nearly-empty containers of Ranch/French Onion Dip, a couple of tubs of soft butter containing less than a teaspoon of some substance I could not identify but assume to have at one time been butter. There were four eggs in a half-carton. Since the expiration date was apparently on the missing half of the carton I tried, unsuccessfully, to remember when the last time I'd actually used a frying pan. I seemed to recall having boiled an egg sometime around Easter, so decided it would probably be wise to err on the side of caution and pitch them.

By the time I'd gotten to the back of the shelf, I decided I really should go check my email. I'll get to the other three or four shelves, and the stuff in the inside of the door some day soon. Really, I will.

If cleaning the refrigerator were only as simple as cleaning the freezer. Because my eating habits preclude my eating more than 1/4 cup of solid food at a time (chewing when one has no saliva to aid in the processing or to clue the throat when to swallow is a slow, cumbersome and ultimately boring chore), I try to buy appetizer-type foods consisting of individual pieces (ravioli; pizza rolls), things which I can divvy up and use only what I know I'll eat at one sitting--almost never more than three pieces at a time. So I buy a box of 12 something-or-others, set aside 3 for dinner, put the remaining 9 pieces in 3 ziplock freezer bags, and put them in the freezer, whereupon I completely forget about them.

As a result, the freezer becomes more and more full of individual freezer bags, some of which are marked and some of which are not. (Hey, I know exactly what's in them when I put them in the freezer; it's six weeks later that I have difficulty in figuring out what is what.) And inevitably it becomes more and more difficult to close the freezer door. I know I should do something about it, but I have more pressing things to do at the moment, so I just force the door shut and go about my business.

Until the day when I open the freezer door to put in even more individual freezer bags and, like Fibber McGee's closet, a cascade of contents pours out onto the floor. This happens regularly every six months or so. I know it's going to happen. But each and every time it does, I fly into a fury. I reach into the open freezer compartment and forcefully scoop everything remaining in it out onto the floor and across the room. Salvaging only a very few recognizable items that I "know" I'll eat within a day or two, I toss the rest into a garbage bag, furious with myself for wasting perfectly good food (but who wants a bunch of freezer bags full of largely unidentifiable and God-knows-how-old food?).

I replace the saved items in the freezer and add the two, three, or four bags of whatever I'd opened the door to put in. And the entire process begins again.

I do have fun.

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