Cleaning out the Fridge

The Rev. and I have gone hardcore about not buying food until we have eaten everything in our house. We did go to the grocery a few days ago, because a straight diet of chicken and rice had my digestive tract crying for something green. I experienced a similar situation when The Rev. and I were in Germany and every other meal was schnitzel, potatoes, and bread. I can count on one hand the number of times I had a fresh vegetable in a three week period on that vacation. My food memories of Europe are very monochromatic, punctuated with bright spoonfuls of red cabbage and the fresh cherries we bought in Nuremburg. The Rev. and I did venture away from the pack and find a Chinese restaurant in Vienna (delicious) and a vendor in one of the villages that was selling Turkish delicacies. We ate olives and a tomato cheese mixture with flatbread while sitting on the steps of the local courthouse. One can only eat so many pieces of scnitzel before you stop caring about the Glockenspiel and start looking for the Imodium.

Our refrigerator has taken on the looks of a ghost town. Our fridge door is full of what I call the "edible non-edibles," meaning one can eat them, but you would not eat that substance by itself. Mustard, mayonnaise, 32 bottles of hot sauce, 3 bottles of A-1, orange marmalade, and a jar of cherry jelly populate the shelves of our fridge door. It will be a sad day indeed when I look to condiments as a source of nutrition. The Rev. also has a bottle of something called "Liquid Minerals," so when our hair and teeth begin to fall out from malnutrition, we can start to drink that.

The cleaning out of the fridge also poses another problem: the vacancies of foodstuff leave behind evidence of their stay. Mystery drippings beneath the crisper drawer, and little puddles of goo on the shelves stare at you when you open the door to remind yourself there is no cheese dip to go with your chips or salad to go with your dressing. The nastiness has to come out, and I guess I will be the one to do it, given that The Rev. is in the throes of the last few weeks of school and I have the day off. We have another fridge in the garage (we call it the beer fridge) that came with the house, and in the spirit of marriage and sharing, I may kindly suggest to The Rev. that he gets to clean that one when he gets home. I think there is mystery goo in there too.