Lunch, Interrupted

Making a Sandwich

This is me making lunch and the truth that no cookbook will ever tell you.

Opens fridge: “I have nothing to eat.”

Stares at the 12 different kinds of condiments. Mango chutney, preserved lemons, chimichurri and so on…, apparently I love making condiments.

Closes fridge: opens pantry: “Aha – chickpeas we meet again.”

Spies an avocado. Cut it open. Mushy black and green.
Avocado: “you should’ve eaten me three days ago.”
Rude!

Accidentally Tugs on Another Thought

Moment of silence.
Stares out the window at the snow.
Contemplated Venezuela’s predicament.

They’re gonna thank the colonizers.
That’s how it works.

Back to the fridge.

Leafy greens still clinging to life.
Tomatoes are barely holding on, just barely.
Onion daring me to peel it because it knows half of that top layer is gone.

Democracy, civil liberties, rot.

The Salmon Dilemma

Look! What is that?
Yay! Smoked salmon – saved.

Wait, when did I buy this?
Just staring into space now, trying to will myself into remembering.

My mind flashes to my mom. Dementia?

Ughhh, just give up.
That voice: “Have a couple of crackers. It’s easy.”

They said it was drug trafficking.
Fishing boats blown up!
An oil,rich country now occupied – I mean saved…
The US will just be helping to run the country until…

Nope, don’t do it!

Absurdities

Continue to wonder about the salmon while I scavenged.

Capers, olives, preserved lemons. Red bell peppers. SCORE
Spies the pita bread hanging out in the corner.
Does a happy dance
I can make something out of this…

Did they forget about The Constitution or did it just become inconvenient.
They seem to really believe in it. Hmmm
They sure quote The Amendments a lot.

Warm the pita, mash the chickpeas add some garlic, maybe some salt.
Smears it on the pita

Line with a few salvaged green leaves and rescued tomatoes.
I think resistance is being erased.

Sprinkle some black pepper.
Just get the rest on there.
Add the bell peppers, olives, capers, onions, preserved lemons.

The Loop

And finally, the smoked salmon.

Opened the packaged.
Looped right back: “Oh I don’t even remember when I bought this.”
“Should I be eating this?”
“Hey, it smoked – preserved enough. I’ll take the chance.”

Checks the date anyways. It’s fine.

Ethical crisis: “Why did you buy this smoked salmon? It’s not even wild caught.”
“I’m tired of reading food labels like they are instructions on how to diffuse a bomb.”

Dangerous spiral: “I still don’t remember buying this.”
“Did someone sneak in my house and put the salmon in my fridge?”
“Do you really wanna eat it?”

Hunger won.
I shrugged and put it on the sandwich.

I’m too tired for moral purity. Gandhi was a racist and Mother Teresa liked suffering too much,
and I’m wrestling with the purity of salmon.

The Bite

Drizzle some olive oil.
Fold the pita in half.

I can see the writing on the wall.
Wasn’t this one of the shithole countries?

I shouldn’t need to spend this much time making lunch.
Take a bite.

Ughh a little bitter.

I have to find a better olive oil.
Ate the whole sandwich.

Had a cup of tea. Irish Breakfast – yeah I see the irony.
I call it reclamation.
It was delicious.

Empathy is painful.
It means you can’t look away even when you can’t fix it.

Judgment is easy.
You get to say your piece and walk away.

I was only trying to make lunch.