Mommy Bloggers: Armageddon-Co and Apocalypse Club

Are you hungry? Want to take a look in the pantry for a snack?
Here. Put on a protective helmet. And take this flashlight and machete. You are going to need them. It’s a risky venture, opening that cupboard door. There are cans and boxes stacked precariously from top to bottom. Careful there. If you move that can of chicken broth, it could all come crashing down on your head. Just like “jenga�? but with cans and boxes of non-perishables instead of small rectangles of wood.

When it comes to food, I am a hoarder. Plain and simple. There are two adults and one toddler in our family. Based on the contents of my pantry, one might think we are parents to at least 5 ravenous teenagers. We are not. One might think we live in a bomb shelter and are preparing for the big one. We do not. My name is Meghan. I am 33 year old food hoarder, and I am not afraid to admit it.

We went to Costco on Saturday. I spent three hundred dollars. I came home with two flank steaks, two large pot roasts, 5 pounds of boneless short ribs, two whole chickens, 6 pounds of boneless chicken breasts and a five pound package or chicken sausage. And that was just the meat section. There are two adults in our household. Two.

So why the scarcity mentality? I wish I knew. I was fed as a child. Every day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. My mother cooked for us every single day.

My sisters and I did have to improvise every once in a while. We made our own bag lunches for school. When the cupboard got a little bare, we had to get creative. Like the times we made “Doritos�? out of stale taco shells and table salt. Not so good. My younger sisters once made a seven layer cake of wheat bread, margarine and cinnamon sugar. Visually, it was a masterpiece. Their excitement turned to disappointment when they took a few bites and went into nauseated margarine overload. It looked like cake, but really, it was just heavily buttered bread piled up with cinnamon sugar. Hic. Excuse me. I just threw up a little in my mouth.

I used to make my own “mounds�? candy bars after school. While watching “Inspector Gadget�? in the kitchen on our black and white television, I would pile coconut and chocolate chips on a piece of saran wrap and cook it in the microwave until it became a bubbling, smoking, rock-hard lump. Then I ate it. Happily. I can only imagine what ingesting melted saran wrap fumes has done to my insides.

The good stuff went fast at our house. When my mother came home from the grocery store, we would make a mad rush to “help her with the bags�?. The kind of help we offered was not altruistic. Oh no. We helped with the groceries so that we could take a silent inventory of the treats, and then stash the fruit roll ups and oreos away. We could then return to gorge on them with no one being the wiser. Our hungry, beady little eyes scanned the brown paper sacks. Bag of oranges… broccoli… cheerios….BINGO! CHOCOLATE CHIP GRANOLA BARS! There are eight, so I need to make sure I get at least four of them before Molly, Betsy and Julie spot them! If I act fast, I can do it!

Everyone was out for themselves. It was dog eat dog.

One time, I managed to be the first one to get to a box of Twinkies our grandma brought over. I stuffed my pockets and snuck out of the house. “I’m going for a bike ride!�? I said as I slyly slid six twinkies into the basket on my banana seat bike. I ate all of them during my covert bicycle mission. I pedaled home weakly, and retired to my bedroom in a nauseated stupor. That was the end of my love affair with alll things Hostess.

Our father used to try to beat us at our own game. He hid cookies in the upstairs hall closet, behind a pile of musty sleeping bags. We always found them. It we were lucky, we got to them before the dank closet smell permeated the box and made them taste funny. If we got there too late, we typically ate the foul, stinky cookies anyways. It wasn’t about taste, it was about WINNING!

I suppose my food hoarding did have some historical rooting in the family culture that we all helped create. The scarcity mentality continues today. I just like to eat exactly what I want, when I want. My husband Jim loves leftovers. I let him eat them all. I have no interest in dining on food that was cooked yesterday. That is so, well… yesterday. I like to ponder what exactly it is that I want to eat, and then make it and eat it. This requires a well-stocked pantry and freezer.

If we are ever faced with Armageddon, and my family survives the initial attack, we could easily hole up and subsist on the contents of the pantry for at least 3 months. All we need is a can opener.

Let me think……hmmmm……Tonight…. I want……. pasta with pine nuts and brasied short ribs. Now hand me that helmet and flashlight. I’m going in. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call the fire department. I've likely been concussed by a can of garbanzo beans.

Comments

Holy crap...I thought we were the only family on earth who were ready for nuclear war, but not prepared for tonight's supper! We also have a serverely overstocked pantry, but I still find myself at Safeway everyday buying last minute items for that night's menu.

I'm the stockboy in the family...if it's on sale I'm buyin ten of em. My husband, on the other hand, wouldn't stock up on anything even if it was buy one get 12 free! "We only need 5 rolls of toilet paper this week...too bad we have to buy this pack of six...such a waste."

Posted by: Vicky (Desperate to be a Housewife) | November 10, 2005 11:49 AM

Heh. It's my husband that has this problem, not me (virtuous look). But that's largely because he's the cook in our house. Sometimes, we have enough pasta for the entire nation of Italy to come over for dinner.

Posted by: landismom | November 10, 2005 3:05 PM

Some day I want to do a comprehensive study (while in my pajamas, via my blog) on why some people will eat leftovers and some people will not. Are there some instances in which leftovers *are* acceptable, e.g., as lunches when there is a microwave available? And some instances in which they are most certainly not, e.g., as dinner again next night? And some instances in which they may be tolerated, e.g., as dinner on a designated "leftovers night?"

Are leftovers the window to the soul??

P.S. Is concussed a word?

Posted by: Mary | November 11, 2005 12:15 PM

I serve huge bowls of ice cream. They are standard in my family, and it wasn't until 10 years or so ago that we figured out why.

My mom grew up as one of 6 kids. If a half gallon of ice cream came in the door (it was a rarity), and you were fortunate enough to get to it, you put as much as you could in a bowl. A big cereal bowl. The next time you opened the freezer, there would be no ice cream.

Posted by: carson | November 11, 2005 12:56 PM

I have three teens and a preschooler, there is never ever ever enough food. Apparently enough food only applies to things like oreos and fun sized candy bars.

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Armageddon-Co and Apocalypse Club

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