Attack of the Lunch
Though I usually avoid sharing these tales, as they make the author look a tad stupid, I am still so stunned by today’s misadventure that I felt like posting it for your, um, consumption. I say consumption as it involves lunch.
I bought a can of aloo peneer at Jewel. Aloo peneer, for those unaware, is a fantastic Indian dish consisting of peas and soft Indian cheese in a spicy tomato cream sauce. It’s fantastic. I have been waiting to eat it for days, excited out of proportion at the idea. It was the sole thing that made today, a Monday, worthwhile. It’s also gray, rainy, and humid today—not a good combination. I awoke to dark skies that made it difficult to get out of bed. Nothing seemed to be worth rising for, save for the thought of aloo paneer. You gotta find joy where you can.
I microwaved the grub for a minute and a half—just under standard time for soup—and carefully removed the bowl, peeled back the plastic wrap, and inspected my lunch. It was sizzling, steaming, obviously done. I took the wrap off completely. That’s when it happened. BOOM! A heat pocket under the sauce burst. Aloo paneer was everywhere. Thanks to quick reflexes I shielded my face with my hand, which got burned, but there was no way to protect my shirt, a nice blue Eddie Bauer number, one of my favorites. I ran the thing under water, used dish soap to spot treat it (a handy trick I picked up years ago), but the food covered too great an area. The shirt, it seemed, was ruined.
I did not have a back-up shirt (fans of Party Down! will get the reference). What to do… Well, first I ate the damn lunch. I suffered for it; I was going to eat it. And it was quite good, almost as good as what I get in my favorite Indian restaurant. Then I asked for a quick break to go to the dry cleaners. The trek was long, especially in the humidity, and I wore my undershirt and a black jacket. I looked ridiculous. The cleaner said the chances of saving the shirt were 50-50, so I went for it. Then I walked to Sears and bought a new shirt. It’s not the same, but close: blue, button up, fairly generic save for a Polo symbol on the breast pocket.
My thinking is that nothing worse can happen today, and if it does, well, so be it. After a near scalding and an embarrassing aftermath, I’m ready. Okay fate, you fucker, bring it on.
I bought a can of aloo peneer at Jewel. Aloo peneer, for those unaware, is a fantastic Indian dish consisting of peas and soft Indian cheese in a spicy tomato cream sauce. It’s fantastic. I have been waiting to eat it for days, excited out of proportion at the idea. It was the sole thing that made today, a Monday, worthwhile. It’s also gray, rainy, and humid today—not a good combination. I awoke to dark skies that made it difficult to get out of bed. Nothing seemed to be worth rising for, save for the thought of aloo paneer. You gotta find joy where you can.
I microwaved the grub for a minute and a half—just under standard time for soup—and carefully removed the bowl, peeled back the plastic wrap, and inspected my lunch. It was sizzling, steaming, obviously done. I took the wrap off completely. That’s when it happened. BOOM! A heat pocket under the sauce burst. Aloo paneer was everywhere. Thanks to quick reflexes I shielded my face with my hand, which got burned, but there was no way to protect my shirt, a nice blue Eddie Bauer number, one of my favorites. I ran the thing under water, used dish soap to spot treat it (a handy trick I picked up years ago), but the food covered too great an area. The shirt, it seemed, was ruined.
I did not have a back-up shirt (fans of Party Down! will get the reference). What to do… Well, first I ate the damn lunch. I suffered for it; I was going to eat it. And it was quite good, almost as good as what I get in my favorite Indian restaurant. Then I asked for a quick break to go to the dry cleaners. The trek was long, especially in the humidity, and I wore my undershirt and a black jacket. I looked ridiculous. The cleaner said the chances of saving the shirt were 50-50, so I went for it. Then I walked to Sears and bought a new shirt. It’s not the same, but close: blue, button up, fairly generic save for a Polo symbol on the breast pocket.
My thinking is that nothing worse can happen today, and if it does, well, so be it. After a near scalding and an embarrassing aftermath, I’m ready. Okay fate, you fucker, bring it on.
posted by ZombieDante at 12:18 PM
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