Thursday, October 8, 2009

Remembrances of Meatballs Past


My mother in law periodically gets a charitable urge and decides to unload a bunch of canned/processed food items from her pantry on us. The gestures are certainly kind but I must say her shopping choices confound me. She’s a die-hard proponent of processed food (one of my all time favorite betes noires). So all of a sudden, my kitchen is full of bizarre products I would never buy--baked beans, corned beef hash, canned pasta products and so on.

The other day, after the latest round came in, I had a bunch of cans sitting on the table while I made some room in the far corners of my cabinets (I have decided to make them into emergency rations in the event of some kind of bioterrorist attack). Hank, who I am proud to say, has never eaten ravioli (or anything else of that nature) from a can, immediately zeroed in on the Chef Boyardee pasta with meatballs and asked to have that for a snack. (I asked him about the choice and he said it was based on the guy in the funny hat on the front—clearly their cheesy marketing is right on target). OK…I grew up in the 70s and we ate our share of spaghetti-o’s and didn’t mutate or anything. So I gave in. Really, what is one HFCS, MSG, sodium laden can of GMO pasta and hormone treated beef going to hurt? The boy and I split the can. He ate his bowl right away. I found it mushy, cloying, but not entirely unpleasant. However, the madeleine-style 1977 flashback I was hoping for did not occur—just a mild case of indigestion.

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