You say potato, I say marshmallow (and I think s'more)

With Thanksgiving just around the corner I am, yet again, being manipulated into attempting domestic endeavors. I'm fairly certain that I will be ruining some mashed sweet potatoes tomorrow. I like it so much better when I am left alone to heat and assemble things that I wouldn't feed another human being.

That isn't really important. The point I'm really trying to make is that I opened the bag of marshmallows that are intended for the sweet potato dish. The first bite was really great. Full of memories of food gone by. Very satisfying. Why, oh why, can't I just stop with that? But no, I'm already 5 in and, as predicted, I've stopped actually tasting them, however, I won't stop eating them.

Now I'm at that place where I'm trying to figure out how many I need to leave in order to cover the top of the sweet potatoes and failing that, what time the store is open on Thanksgiving day so that I can pretend this whole thing never happened.

Eating is never just eating.

Cooking is overrated anyway

I have a lot of spices for someone who doesn't cook. A great deal of cabinet space has been devoted to spices that I never use. I have no idea what I have because I so rarely use them. As a result I accidentally buy duplicate spices on the rare occasion that I think I need something. To be honest I have no idea why I have three bottles of curry and four of ground mustard. I can't recall ever making anything fancy enough to require that.

I used to pretend that I cooked. Back when I thought that I should.

I'm a more confident person now so I freely admit that the most I can do is assemble. Occasionally I will heat some weird combination of things and assemble them into something delicious. Delicious to me, that is. Nothing I would ever put in front of another human being.

Nothing I've created has ever required saffron or tarragon or coriander or all spice (whatever the flip that is) but I had it all.

I say "had" because I just discovered today (after years and years) that these things expire! It never occurred to me that spices go bad. Imagine my surprise and annoyance. I mean, I carted a lot of them across the country because I felt bad about throwing them away that and who wants to build a whole new useless spice collection? Not I. So I moved them. Several times. I dusted them. I allowed them more space than they deserved; only to find out they aren't just window dressing but rotten window dressing.
Not cool.

I can't express the huge amount of relief I felt when I threw them all away. I no longer have to open that cabinet and face all that judgment. That incessent "you should really know how to use us" sneer from the spice mob eight jars deep. I just hope whoever goes through the recycle bin doesn't connect me with the spice massacre. I'll never confess. That would be humiliating.

Nah, I'm pretty confident I look like I can cook.