I don’t really understand meat, but I do understand meat paranoia. But, dangerously, only after the meat is consumed. It’s an epiphanic reminiscence that rudely cuts through the post-meal dopamine fog and asks, “what about ecoli, though?” Which is really a problem in itself. I don’t even know enough to know what to be afraid of, so my fear center can only latch onto whatever celebrity bacteria is making headlines on the day. It takes some serious mental gymnastics to read “Chipotle Ecoli Outbreak” and conclude that the article was written specifically about the package of ground turkey I bought at Safeway a week ago, but I can get there.
Now, to be clear, I recognize this as a completely unreasonable phenomenon and it doesn’t at all dissuade me from eating meat on an almost daily basis. In fact, it clashes constantly with my millennial presumption of invincibility, which leads to a worst of both worlds situation. I get all the stress that comes with believing something might kill me, but none of the paranoid abstinence that would save my life if somehow I was right. Like I said, for the most part this isn’t an issue because for the most part the paranoia is sensational and baseless, but then also sometimes I leave chicken on the counter overnight and say out loud to myself “well the house is pretty cold” and allow my brain to dismiss the not-at-all-insignificant thirty degree gap between the fridge and not the fridge, in which case the paranoia is fully warranted. There are layers to this.
Anyway, all this is to say that the week old ground turkey hasn’t killed me yet. But I’m stressed about it.
On to tonight.
Look at this delight. Two courses? A salad that isn’t just spinach?
Set the bar low and get praised every time you make something that looks decent – Food Blogs 101.
Tell readers the food looks decent and imply that others have praised it, even if neither is true – Food Blogs 201.
Resting atop that bed of plain brown rice is a Morning Star Spicy Black Bean Burger. The Lamborghini Gallardo of frozen, sub four dollar ground beef alternatives. Which is to say, the Pontiac Aztec of protein sources. It’s a thing you bite into and say “This is perfectly decent”, and it’s true, but also incomplete – the opening clause of a sentence that ends with “for a cheap, frozen, dinner shortcut.” To be fair to the good folks at Morning Star, that’s an addendum for nearly the entire freezer aisle, and that’s fine. The exchange of quality for efficiency is the exact transaction upon which modern America was built. Questionable flavors and textures aren’t why I typically avoid frozen meals. Neither are the ten-syllable PRESERVATIVES constantly featured in bold, sixteen-point headline font across CNN: Health, though that’s less a conscious nonfear than another example of millennial ignorance/apathy/belief in the infallibility of the FDA/acceptance of risk. Pick one.
So why not eat frozen food? As with all things, the answer is salt. The freezer aisle is a shrine built to worship the versatility of a mineral that’s vital for making food both taste good and keep tasting good. We’re talking incredible amounts of salt. I can’t justify it, but I can understand how it’s become such a widespread crutch for people lacking a palate as indifferent as mine. The emergence of the freezer aisle transformed the microwave from the oven’s deadbeat cousin into a portal through which you can experience the shittiest version of local cuisine from anywhere in the world. And it turns out the price for culinary freedom is a heart-stopping amount of salt. And, like, $5.99.
So why the Morning Star Spicy Black Bean Burger? Sometimes I get tired of “cooking” and want food that I can get into my body as quickly as possible. And let’s be clear, I’m not saying the Morning Star Spicy Black Bean Burger is the best choice. The regular packs have four patties, each about an eighth of an inch thick. The things are like coasters. It’s ethically questionable that Morning Star lists the nutrition facts for Serving Size: One. I’ve never actually eaten one on a bun, but I imagine the experience would vary little from simply eating a bun. So why the Morning Star Spicy Black Bean Burger? They pack a bit of a punch, or maybe more of a tickle. The best black bean burgers taste like nothing you’ve ever had, a concentrated explosion of spices designed to overwhelm the senses and force the mind to forget, for but an instant, how much it prefers beef. Morning Star doesn’t reach those heights. BEANS is the first flavor to hit, followed closely by FLAIR – my name for an indistinguishable spice blend that’s trying it’s goshdarn best, but can’t ever quite seem to get the upper hand on BEANS. So why the Morning Star Spicy Black Bean Burger? They’re healthy, or at least as healthy as anything you’re likely to find in the freezer section. More of a nutritional zero, I guess. An easy way to add nine grams of protein and a tolerable amount of salt to any meal, which, when that meal would otherwise be a plain bowl of rice, is a not insignificant boost. It also might not be a wholly necessary boost, given that I treat every meal as an opportunity to maximize protein intake. Adding nine more grams once I’ve already reached 300% of the daily recommended value is, at best, irrelevant and, at worst… unhealthy?
So why the Morning Star Spicy Black Bean Burger? I have no idea. Best guess is that some combination of their proximity to frozen berries and prettygreen packaging led to a permanent spot among the series of waypoints that map out the path I take every time I visit the grocery store.
Anyway. The rice bowl was fine.
The salad should’ve been fine, too, except it wasn’t. Logically, I recognize salad dressings as a necessary evil – lubricants that allow the body to consume exponentially more leafy greens than it’d be able to choke down otherwise – yet I keep finding myself doing everything I can to remove them from my diet. This aversion reached its apex a few years ago when I started dressing my spinach piles with only lemon juice, which was such a hellish wedding of sour and bitter that each meal became a struggle against something that was less gag reflex than attempted exorcism.
For the last several months I’ve settled on Newman’s Own Light Balsamic Vinaigrette, which is definitely not unhealthy, but contains ingredients I can’t pronounce and apparently I feel I’m above that? In my head, a salad needs only olive oil and balsamic vinegar. So last week I bought olive oil and balsamic vinegar. And I’m not saying I’m wrong, but the results thus far have been less than stellar. It’s a ratio issue, obviously – one that swings radically from extreme to extreme. I always start with too much balsamic, because balsamic is the clear Simon to olive oil’s Garfunkel. Which, as a 28 year old with no appreciation or knowledge of classic artists, is an analogy that I hope makes sense. So for the first few bites I’m just chewing vinegar. No problem, add olive oil. And that’s when things get wild. Olive oil coats the spinach but refuses to be absorbed, and tastes like nothing. So for the next few bites I’m eating spinach that looks like it’s drenched, chews like it’s dry, and tastes only like spinach. No problem, add balsamic. BAM! Lubed-up vinegar and spinach soup.
This meal was bad.
Burned and Bland 