We can never finish an entire can of corn.
When I say we, I mean myself and my two roommates. A can of corn opened as a side dish with dinner always ends up having too little corn remaining to make a serving, but just enough left to be too much to throw away. I dutifully put it in a plastic container to wait until the next time I serve corn, when I add another can and the cycle continues. I’m fairly certain we occasionally eat some corn that was first opened while Clinton was in office.
Corn does not have the same status as macaroni & cheese in our household. No matter how little is left over when mac & cheese is served, it disappears from the fridge quickly; usually becoming someone’s breakfast of champions. But not corn. Corn usually makes its reappearance in a completely different way the following morning.
I suppose I could eliminate some of the problem by mixing the corn with the mac & cheese. But not only am I unsure that I’m ready for a creamy crunch with every mouthful, I also feel that it’s dangerous to start down the slippery slope that is “all food ends up in the same place anyway.” I imagine if I served meat loaf stuffed with mac & corn & cheese and topped with cherry pie filling, I may soon be looking for a new place to live.
So for now, my never-ending supply of leftover corn will remain in the refrigerator, along with the other various and sundry unmarked plastic containers holding other various and sundry less-than-one-serving of leftovers. And the occasional plastic container of dog food. Those occasionally disappear as well, and I really hope they’re ending up in the dog’s stomach.
The refrigerator is also home to mysterious puddles and drips that just seem to appear no matter how frequently I clean. Sometimes, I worry about leaving the house for too long, in case these puddles and drips continue to spontaneously appear and collect until a veritable pond swamps the kitchen.
Whomever it was that invented the self-cleaning oven must have died before he could continue the next logical step by inventing the self-cleaning fridge. Many people I’m sure would enjoy being able to close the door on their refrigerator at night and open it in the morning to a sparkling fresh interior. The closest my fridge has come to this is by creating its own form of life from the primordial soup of leftovers that then rampages through the shelves eating everything in its path.
Upon further thought, this may be a bit of a far-fetched idea; more likely it’s one of my roommates that wakes early in the morning and sweeps all the contents of the plastic containers into his gaping zombie-like maw.
Including the dog food.
But sadly, never the corn.