Don’t Fake It

Answer: Christmas trees. Nails. Breasts. People. Tans. Cheese.

Question: What fake things does Chelsea hate?

I unfortunately had to settle for a fake Christmas tree for three years, because Dave and I lived in apartments that didn’t allow ‘real’ trees due to fire hazards. I didn’t love it. But it wasn’t such a bad little tree.

There may be a few exceptions to my other answers, as well, but as far as cheese goes, no way.

My high school boyfriend’s father traveled a lot for his job and once told me a story of a time he sat next to a CEO at a major food company. When my boyfriend’s father asked the man what he did for a living, he replied, “I take perfectly good cheese and add things you can’t pronounce until it is no longer cheese.”

My feelings exactly. And in part why my dinner tonight was not stellar. (Did you know that Velveeta and American cheese can only be called ‘cheese products’ because ‘cheese’ is an actual ingredient and not the result? Very disturbing.)

I don’t make weekly dinner menus (since I only cook for myself), but I do tend to have a general idea of what I’m going to have for dinner. I had plans tonight for a spicy shrimp and black bean quesadilla with a side of spanish rice and a ripe, juicy mango.

I would have cut it just like that!

However, work circumstances arose and I had to stay until 9:30pm. I wasn’t overly keen on the idea, but sometimes you just have to pull a Charlie Sheen and roll with it. I was already famished at 6:00pm, so the thought of waiting for a 10:00pm dinner was inconceivable (and yes, I know exactly what that word means).

Instead, I paid the ridiculous ATM fee to withdraw cash (because our work cafeteria does not allow debit cards), and tried to scrounge a somewhat healthy meal up at 8:00pm. I was not feeling a salad, but in retrospect, that’s probably what I should have gone with.

Instead, I settled for a tuna sandwich on what looked like foccacia with cheddar cheese and an apple. I’m not sure what the bread was, but it wasn’t foccacia. The tuna salad, like most, was heavy on the mayo and light on the tuna, resulting in soggy-riffic bread.

And the cheese? It was not cheese. Why Americans must be responsible for such a heinous plasticy somewhat edible square when we have fine states (ahem, Wisconsin) that produce fabulous cheese is beyond me.

In other words, I removed the cheese promptly, scraped off half the tuna, and had a somewhat flavorless breadwich with sad iceberg lettuce and a few slices of tomato.

This is why I like cooking for myself during the week. However, I do feel compelled to the note that the apple was delicious. 🙂

End pity party. Cue desire for great cheese consumption.


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