Amy's Frozen Shepherd's Pie Part 1, August 2004

Amy's makes nearly-edible, supposedly organic vegetarian frozen food. I rank the shep's pie at the top of the mediocre heap.

I always get excited by the picture on the box. Note how the stylist has compensated for the complete lack of visual interest in this frozen block of food by putting it in a nice ceramic dish painted with appetizing leaves, and placed it on a checkered tablecloth that says "wholesome good time."

It is all a fantastic dream. The shepherd's pie nirvana of Box World can never be achieved in 3-D. There is no green checkered tablecloth.There is no nice ceramic dish. In fact, because this product has no internal structural integrity, it is actually impossible to serve it in a nice ceramic dish, unless you want to scramble it all up. And trust me; you don't want to do that.

Amy's Frozen Shepherd's Pie, Part 2

Pictured here is the reality of Amy's Frozen Shepherd's Pie. It authoritatively answers the epistemological question "how do I know I'm not dreaming?" For in no dream of mine would dinner consist of frozen shepherd's pie in a paper dish garnished with cigarettes and chased with half a glass of leftover ritratto rosso, with cognitive dissonance for dessert.

Please note that frozen food is never the answer.

Ramen, August 2004

This staple of the impecunious contains no nutritive value whatsoever. The noodles are extruded from Kleenex. The foil packet contains a a compound made from chicken beaks and nuclear fission waste.

For this ramen experience, I deployed as roach poison the contents of the foil packet. Then I cooked the noodles in a broth of water, pudgy carrots, garlic, dried porcini, crushed chile, and a scoop of the chicken demi-glace I keep in the fridge. I pity the fool who doesn't keep a jar of chicken demi-glace in the fridge.

Chilled Cucumber Bisque with Ginger and Curry, August 2004

Those of you who have been following my foodsploits will recall that cucumber bisque has been much on my mind since summer reached a full boil a few weeks back. Eating this soup is the food equivalent of getting a foot massage or putting an ice pack on the back of your neck. And the beauty of it is, you just throw some cucumbers and yogurt and a few herbs into the Cuisinart; done and done. This version was almost fluffy. After the picture was taken, I threw a glob of creme fraiche on there, just because I could.

Reuben Sandwich and Fries, 34th Street Cafe, Austin, August 2004

On the list of dishes you never make at home for some reason, the first half of a Reuben sandwich stands crust-to-crust with the finest sandwich concepts in Western civilization. But what to do about the second half? Is it, or is it not always soggy and unappetizing by the time you get to it?

Something must be done! We Reubenistas have suffered long enough! I wonder where the candidates stand on Reuben sandwich research funding? Because if a government can't even prevent soggy sandwiches, what the hell good is it?