I don’t cook. Sure, earlier in my post-collegiate life, finances and a shorter commute (and perhaps youthful enthusiasm) had me attempting to prepare simple dinners: pasta, boneless chicken breasts, frozen hamburger patties, etc.
That’s all fallen by the wayside. These days I eat out, or take out, or order in.
But once or twice a year, it occurs to me—I should have a fallback plan. For those nights I get home after my regular places are closed. Or I’m stuck inside due to illness or snowstorm. (This ain’t Topanga.) And I shouldn’t be eating out every night. It’s expensive. It’s not healthy.
And that’s when I buy a box of Cheerios.
Milk, you need milk with Cheerios, right? I’m trying to be health-conscious here, so I like to buy the no-fat variety. Now, we all mocked the first George Bush when he appeared to be in awe of a supermarket price scanner. But I have to sympathize with the guy, because I don’t spend a hell of a lot of time grocery shopping, either. So, I have to spend a few minutes looking at the different milk cartons available: sizes, brands, fat content, etc.
I spied what appeared to be magic milk. It was organic, 0% fat, and made by the fine people at Stonyfield Farm (who I have a soft spot for, as they once sponsored a music event I emceed). Most importantly: IT DIDN’T EXPIRE FOR TWO MONTHS. Perfect for my “ramblin’ man” lifestyle!
I brought it home and had two bowls of Cheerios. I could feel my cholesterol plummeting as I sat there in front of the TV, with a chair as a table. The meal was such a success, I repeated the experiment the following night.
However, my on-the-go, never-a-dull-moment existence prevented me from returning to the Cheerios (stored in the refrigerator, to discourage insects and rodents) for a solid week and a half. On that evening, I arranged a place setting on my favorite chair, and poured a full bowl. I then fetched the milk and unscrewed the high-tech spout. And though I’m no epicure, I do recognize the stench of spoiled milk.
How could this be? I looked once again at the date stamped on the container. Sure enough, I still had 6+ weeks left. What gives? I read all the text on the packaging until I found these two damning sentences:
This wholesome fat free milk is ultra-pasteurized so it will last longer unopened. Once opened, consume within seven days.
They had me dead to rights. I sadly poured the entire half-gallon (minus four bowls’ worth) down the drain of my kitchen sink. With my hands as a crude funnel, I emptied the bowl of Cheerios back into its box, ignoring the debunking of the Five-Second Rule for the many O’s which landed on the floor.
And I ordered a pizza.
Jack Silbert, curator