What’s in your garbage can?

Years ago, before Oprah became the deity OPRAH, she told her audience that one way of really knowing how your friends are doing is to peek into their linen closet. She said something to the effect of, if their linens are fraying and thinning, you know things aren’t going as well as they seem. Personally, I’m not so sure of that theory. One of my good friends from college is insanely wealthy, and the last time I checked her linen closet it was stacked with stuff which I am positive dates back to the early 80s. Clean but shabby, it didn’t indicate much except that my friend either doesn’t care about her linens or, she’s too damn cheap to buy new ones. I think it’s a combination of both.

So, if the linen closets aren’t where the secrets are, where are they? I say the garbage cans.

I don’t go snooping around the neighborhood trying to get a glimpse of what my neighbors are up to. But when you have to walk a dog twice a day everyday, you notice things. On a recent stroll, I glimpsed into the blue recyclables can in the front of a neighbor’s house. At the top of the pile? A box that used to contain edible underwear. The couple residing there never struck me as the kind who put underwear on their plates for dinner, but okay. To each his own. A few blocks later, I saw a cannister filled with used latex gloves. I soon learned that the house where the gloves were dumped is a home for Alzheimer’s patients. And so on. See, Madame O, I think there are stories in people’s garbage. Lots of stories.

And so I’m revealing to you what’s in mine this week. It tells the story of a housewife who, left alone for two weeks while her husband was away, decided that she would not cook. Part of it was the heat which makes being in the kitchen unbearable. Part of it was this silly idea I had that I was temporarily single again, and could do anything I wanted to. Like pop things in the oven or toaster and minutes later eat it on the couch while watching junk TV. It was a two-week junk spree. (And Nupur, despite learning so much about Indian food from you, I bought some instant Palak Paneer at Trader Joe’s. For shame!)

As good as some of these Bachelorette foods are, I tired of them quickly. Well, I confess, I did inhale the jar of Nutella in just two days. And after eating those waffles three times a day, just looking at the package made me feel a bit ill. There’s something about the mass-manufactured taste of all that stuff that tired my taste buds. But you know what was the worst? After a while, eating that food just made me feel…lonely. None of it was anything I’d offer to guests or share with friends. Maybe that’s why my mother-in-law calls instant food “Bachelor Food.” There’s something very singular about it…

Thank goodness, the Wolf returns tonight. He has told me that because his dear mother is not a good cook (and it’s true, she’s not. Lovely and gifted in many things, just not in the kitchen), he’s looking forward to coming home and having something very fresh and Californian. I’m thinking grilled salmon and a simple green salad.

I’m so glad tomorrow is garbage day. Adieu to Bachelorette food!!!

I dare to ask: what’s in your garbage can?

Tagged as: garbage, hidden stories, instant food, Oprah