Here I go again. Thinking about food. Writing about food. Imagining all the delicious foods that I enjoy and wishing I had an elaborate banquet spread out in front of me. My imaginary feast is quite the opposite of the icky buffet I was subjected to the other night. I know my thoughts are wandering to food because I’m hungry, but really, I think about food often. I can’t help it. I eat. I enjoy eating. I think about eating. And when I think about eating, I think about what I might be eating.

We humans need fuel, like every other living thing. Unlike other living things, we fuel ourselves with an extraordinarily wide range of foods, many of them natural and wholesome and full of vitamins and minerals (I learned that from a cereal commercial). However, and this is a HUGE however, the vast majority of the food in my home isn’t of that variety. I would venture to say that’s true for many people. At least people who shop in grocery stores.

Oh sure, there are a few pitiful fruits and vegetables under my roof, but they’re the exception rather than the rule. Quick inventory: one rather dull looking apple, three overripe bananas, a tiny watermelon, two small pumpkins, a jar of pink grapefruit slices, and a bag of frozen green beans. I’m not proud.

The pumpkins are earmarked for pie, so they don’t count. The only thing those bananas are good for at this point is banana bread, so they’re off the list too. As for the watermelon, it’s for my son. I despise watermelon. I know, I know… everyone loves watermelon. I do not. I must be defective.

At least I don’t have a fridge packed full of processed frozen foods. It’s only about a quarter full. Of frozen, processed foods. There are potato pancakes from when? Last Hanukkah? And some breakfast sausage sandwiches (no, we don’t keep Kosher, thank you very much for inquiring). There are also some frozen sticks of butter and some chicken legs and an ice pack or two, but we don’t eat those, in case you weren’t sure.

The fridge holds salad dressing, ketchup, wine, and mayo. Oh, and eggs and cheese and yogurt and those grapefruit slices. There is a whole second fridge in the garage that my sweetheart says is for “venison and beer” but really it’s full of soda and water. Although sometimes beer does show up there.

The pantry is the last frontier. It has cereal and oatmeal, spaghetti sauce and canned soup, pasta and chili beans, and ravioi and ramen. It also has Maker’s Mark and baking supplies and the last of the orange filled Oreos. Writing food, I call it. Actually I just made that up. Like it?

It is apparent to me that this situation is not ideal. As a result, I want a kitchen makeover. Not just the flooring and the countertops and the sink and faucet and cabinets (although I would dearly LOVE any one of those things). No, the kind I want involves some trained expert who comes in, clears out the crap, and lays in supplies for a long and healthy life. Yummy ones, I might add. While they’re at it, they could teach me (and the sweetheart) some new recipes, and leave behind a personal chef (who will also do the shopping and cleaning up afterward). Sound good? If you know of anyone, please leave me their card.