Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer

Confession: When I was little, I was a picky eater. No oddities like only eating white or green foods, but nonetheless, there was a whole list of things I would not touch: raisins, melted cheese (except for pizza cheese), hard boiled eggs, any sort of meat other than chicken, lima beans, packaged cold cuts, etc. And when I found something I really loved, no one could ween me off it. Some of these food habits still cling to me to this day.

Of course, as I’ve gotten older and my food tastes have matured (hopefully, wishfully) some of these food habits from my teeny years have been harbored away in the back of my mind for safe keeping, say, for a day when it’s grey and rainy and the roommates are out and I just want to devour what I consider real comfort food. There are some comfort foods that are generally accepted, like mac and cheese, or french fries, but everyone has their own list of “go-to” comfort foods. One of mine that I keep locked away is one that truly horrifies some of my Italian friends: pasta and ketchup. Add some breadcrumbs to the mix and I’m a pig in heaven. Sweet and salty, cold and hot, crunchy and chewy all in one forkful.

Everyone once in a while I will crave this odd mix. The source of inspiration of this came from my mother, of course, who I shared a love of pasta with from when I was an itty-bitty. When she wanted a snack in the later hours, the two of us would make some pasta to toss in that heavenly mix of Heinz and Progresso bread crumbs. No other brand. No other combination. Even when I was abroad in the UK for a semester in college, I remember one night when I got a little homesick, I made this meal when I thought everyone was either out or in bed. To my horror, one of my flatmates was still up and discovered me curled up on the couch, watching an episode of a bad British soap opera while eating my bastardization of an Italian meal. Of course, my flatmate looked at me as if I had two heads, cried EWWW and again, caused me to recoil and lock away the “recipe” for safe keeping, out of the public’s eye and ridicule.

But thanks to Mark Bittman of the NYTimes, I no longer have to hide. In his blog, The Minimalist, he posted his recipe for–GASP–a broth and noodle dish with endless variations in which the key ingredient is, ahem, KETCHUP!!!

As I blogged once before about my appreciation of Bittman’s quest to inspire people to use oatmeal for sweet and savory dishes, which served as another relief for me who had experiemented with the oats in the past, once again, I no longer have to hide my experimentations with the red stuff. Thank you Bittman for bringing light to my story.

Life is odd in your 20’s. From one minute to the next, you can be dealing with serious adult things like paying bills and trying to fix a health insurance snafu, and the next, trying to deal with the ridiculousness that comes with being young, on your own, and not really knowing what the hell we are doing.

This morning was the latter.

I awoke to the the following text message from my roommie/bestie: I guess the handle inside the toilet tank broke. To flush, open the tank and grab the chain and pull up once. Make sure it stops running eventually after. I told Nick already. Call me if you need help.

Normally, I wouldn’t freak. As long as it flushes, there could be worse things. But the fact that I am hosting a St. Patrick’s day party tomorrow (it’s the 23rd annual Hoboken St. Patrick’s Parade when thousands of people flock to our mile square town for some debauchery), this is quite an unpleasant situation.

Due to the fact that our faucet has been leaking uncontrollably for the past few months and we do not have any hot water in the mornings even after calling our landlord, I’m trying to remain positive that it will be fixed by tomorrow, yet my sighs are filled of doubt.

Worst case scenario, I will move the party uptown to my co-hostess’ apt., where we are supposed to end up at the end of the day, but it will be a great annoyance because much food and booze are already at my place. If I put foil over the jello shot cups as I schlep them uptown, does that count as open container??

Only time will tell. Come on deli man–our nickname for our landlord, because he is also the owner of the deli that we blame for making our apartment smell like garlic and marinara on a daily basis. Thank God for my roommate, who made me laugh about the situation when I wanted to cry, with this awesome email:

Subject: OUR TOILET!!!

Hey Girlies – Sorry for the apartment-related email but I wanted to let you both know about our apparent toilet drama as soon as possible.

I woke this morning to find out toilet handle not working. Upon opening the tank of the toilet, it turns out the long stick thing that connects to the outer handle to the chain that pulls up the rubber thing that makes it flush, is severely rusted and has broken off. I told our friend, Nick the deli-man, and he said “ok.” I called again now (apparently Max said to call the deli directly to talk to Nick) and spoke to Nick’s brother who is going to tell him again that it needs to be fixed today and that our kitchen faucet is still leaking uncontrollably.

I propose that we each call once an hour, on the hour, to make sure it’s fixed by the time we return. Also, if need be, the toilet can be flushed by opening the top of the tank, rolling up your sleeve, and plunging your hand into the ice-cold water to quickly pull up the chain that connects to the rubber thing. Just make sure that the toilet stops running and the rubber thing falls back in place. My mom also said that we could throw a bucket of water into the actual bowl and that apparently shocks the toilet into emergency flush mode. But I think that method is scary and can get messy. Hopefully Nick the deli landlord will fix it by 5pm.