In a desperate attempt to add variety to our dismal dinner options, tonight at the grocery store we found attractive a can of tapas-style meatballs with peas. On the can, they looked tasty, which suggests how bored we really are with our usual selections.
I had assumed we'd make pasta as usual, with our usual tomato sauce, and eat the tapas-style meatballs with peas on the side. Once the pasta was done cooking, however, and the tapas-style meatballs with peas were done simmering in their own small pot, I reached for the jar of tomato sauce--but Andrew stopped me. "Just mix it in," he said, indicating that I should just pour the tapas-style meatballs with peas in their sauce over the pasta. "Mix it in?" I said. "Just mix it," he said. So I mixed the spaghetti with the tapas-style meatballs and peas.
There are two points to this story. First, there is something inherently disgusting about canned meatballs--there's just no getting around that, no matter how enticing they might look or how desperately one might want to spice up dinner. Second, we are both now sick to our stomachs from the tapas-style meatballs with peas. Andrew's nausea is no surprise, food poisoning being somewhat par for the course with him, but my own usually-steely stomach has been conquered by the sheer psychological horror of what I've just consumed.