Moon in the 6th

The Thug Kitchen Contest Entry: One Time When I Was Breaking Bread With Someone and Things Got Effing Weird

Posted on: September 9, 2013

Thug Kitchen recently celebrated its one-year anniversary with a contest. It invited readers to send in tales of a time they were breaking bread with someone else and things got effing weird. Well, actually, the site didn’t say “effing.” Gratuitously nuclear language is part of the site’s charm — its branding, so to speak — and belies hard core activism for food made from scratch.  If you’re offended by language, stay away, but you’ll miss out on great recipes and laugh-out-loud funny pitches.

Which brings me back to the contest.  The winning entries are here. I bow to the grand prize winner.  The first two runners up are pretty impressive, too. And below, my entry:

When I was in school, I made hamburger stroganoff for dinner. Once. I had no freakin’ idea that you were supposed to soak dried onion flakes in water first and tossed them straight into the ground meat. My roommate, who was a kitchen tyrant, who wouldn’t let me anywhere near when *he* was cooking, ran up and assaulted the skillet with food color — which attached to the still-dried onion flakes and made my gorgeous stroganoff look like a big mound of vomit. No shit! Money was too tight to throw it out, plus we were hungry, so we choked it down. After dinner he made the tactical error of going out onto the rear balcony to take in the glorious Austin sunset. I shut and locked the sliding glass door, closed the curtains and happily went about cleaning up. Minutes later he burst through the front door laughing so hard that he threw himself against the wall to keep standing. He’d jumped off the balcony and treated the elderly and not entirely full-cylindered sisters who lived below us to the sight of a 6’ tall young man falling from the sky onto their patio and then holding a crouching pose with arms outstretched.  Their gazes froze until he dashed out the back fence. When he ran around the building, he saw that they had turned and were watching him speed past the front window. We laughed ourselves into tears. Then the sneaky bastard ran to the fridge, got out the Reddi Whip and sprayed it in my hair. The next day, I had leftover vomit for lunch. The sisters never mentioned their unexpected dinner visitor.

P.S.: My assailant reminds me that the individual colors of the food dye attached themselves to bits of ground meat as well as the dried onion flakes. Also that he jumped the fence.

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