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Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details. "Did you eat the croutons?" By J. G. Fabiano I was working in my office when I heard my wife's shrill question up the stairs. I decided to exercise a prerogative of old age by pretending I was deaf and couldn't hear. A moment later I heard the question again, this time from the top of the stairs, at the door to my office. It was in a voice that blew out both eardrums and made my face shrivel with pain. After the pain passed the only answer I could think of was: "What croutons?" This proved to be the wrong answer! Not long ago my daughter used to live with us so it was easy to blame her for everything. Being a teenager the only times she came home were to eat, and occasionally change clothes, so it was easy to use her to cover my tracks. Of course, I was never around when my wife interrogated her as to whether she was the phantom muncher. Now that my daughter lives away from home the only one I can blame is my cat. This has not proven to be effective. Disregarding my answer, my wife then went on to lecture me that croutons were for salads and not for a quick snack. As she stomped back down the stairs to look for the can of dried onion rings I had eaten earlier that afternoon, I thought of all the other things that were never intended to be snacks but which taste so good. The first that came to mind was those single slices of individually wrapped American cheese that are always found on the door of the refrigerator. For the past few years my wife has opted to buy the low-calorie variety. I don't mind because I can get more of them in my mouth for that quick 'bulk cheese' fix without having to feel guilty. Plus, they come in those perfect, mouth-sized slices. Well, for my mouth they do! Once, when I thought I heard my wife coming into the kitchen, I shoved one in my mouth before I took it out of its plastic wrapper. I think my wife knew because, for the rest of the evening, she never left my side and kept looking at me with a weird kind of smile. I learned that night that man does not have the gastronomic juices of a shark and that this kind of plastic does not easily dissolve in saliva, or stomach acid. When I am in a mood to actually taste the cheese I cover it with mustard, preferably Grey Poupon, so that my esophagus stings a bit as it slides deliciously down into my stomach. Pancake syrup is another favorite snack of mine. Pancake syrup used to come in glass bottles, which meant I had to hold the bottle up over my head, tilt my head back and let it drizzle into my mouth. Sometimes this used to give me a neckache. Now, manufacturers of pancake syrup have recognized that some consumers like to take the middle man out of the equation, i.e. the pancake, and guzzle the syrup right out of the bottle, so they started selling it in squeezeable plastic bottles. All I have to do is pump it straight down my throat in whatever quantity I want. Once again taste has very little to do with it. My body tells me it craves sweetness and I pump in an instant shot of sweetness without the inconvenience of actually having to chew anything. Cocktail sauce is another favorite means of quelling afternoon or late evening hunger pangs. There is a particular brand called, "Helluva Good Cocktail Sauce" that is my favorite. It comes in a wide-mouthed jar so that I can get at it with a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon. This is important when one is standing at the refrigerator door trying to eat fast without being caught by one's better half. I once tried using a cocktail sauce that came in a plastic container and all it did was make a helluva mess! My wife is famous for her pesto: I am equally famous for being a pesto eater. During the summer months we make scores of jars of the green stuff with basil, pine nuts, garlic, olive oil, and pecorino cheese. For years my wife couldn't figure out how we could go through two jars a week, even though we only used it for cooking and every now and then a weekend dip. One day she caught me with my fingers in my mouth while trying to put the lid quietly back on the jar with one hand so she wouldn't hear. I told her the jar fell out when I opened the refrigerator door and I just happened to catch it but then she asked me why my beard was green. Ken's Low Calorie Caesar Dressing is one of my favorite refrigerator door meals. It comes in a bottle that promises never to drip and has a cap that can be put back on in a microsecond. The bottle is also very thin so it will fit neatly between the milk jug and the orange juice. On behalf of refrigerator prowlers everywhere I applaud the food technician who engineered this particular container. Because we are trying to lose weight, for the past few years my wife and I have gone to many low-calorie products. We no longer drink whole milk or even 2% milk. We only purchase skimmed milk. All of our condiments, such as margarine, mayonnaise, relish, and salad dressings are labeled low-calorie. I think there would be a little more truth in advertising if they labeled them: 'You Have To Eat More To Feel Full.' In other words, what I used to eat a little of I now eat a lot of. This is a good marketing technique because we now have to buy a lot more of them, but, reigning supreme, as my favorite snack food of all time is the heavyweight champ of them all: A-1 sauce. I consider A-1 sauce to be the ambrosia of the gods. When we get home with the groceries I can wipe out one of those rectangular little bottles between the time my wife gets out of the car and opens the side door to the house. What is best about this particular sauce is that it is contained inside a dark brown bottle. The bottle is also heavy, whether it is empty or not. No one, not even my wife, can tell whether it is full or empty. Again, I applaud the brilliance of today's modern day food-packaging technicians and their consideration for husbands everywhere. Another one of the finest tastes in the entire world is a thick, spiced cracker covered in a coat of butter. A few weeks ago my wife visited one of her favorite stores, The Christmas Tree Shop in Portland, and purchased a few hundred boxes of a type of cracker that was over a quarter inch thick. It was not only thick but also sturdy enough to withstand the heaviest application of butter without breaking. What I was most impressed with was that it left no evidence. Not one small crumb was left behind. I am starting to adore today's food technology. I always promise myself I will eat only one. However, as soon as the thick coat of butter starts to melt in my mouth and the cracker is ground into delicious pulp that makes my taste buds explode in a kind of rapture second only to a hearty swig of A-1 sauce straight from the bottle, I can't wait for my wife to return to the Christmas Tree Shop to buy more of those marvelous crackers. Suddenly, I found myself jolted rudely back from my daydream. My wife's voice echoed up the stairs like an air raid siren. "Did you eat the relish?" Again I was tempted to pretend deafness but my ears were still ringing from the last time. I thought that if I hid under my desk she might think I had gone out for a walk. "Did you eat the relish?" she asked again, her patience ebbing with every syllable. "I think the cat must have knocked it off the counter," I said. Silence. My hamburger was very dry that night! The End
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