The Broke Foodist
I find it quite ironic how with my addiction to good food, but limited resources with which to secure it, that I landed in a house where the roomates shop at Whole Foods (commonly known as whole paycheck) and turnout five course ethnic dishes daily.
Sound like a great set up? Yes, but of course we all feed ourselves in this house unless its a special occasion (birthdays, broken engagements that sort of thing.) So what usually happens is… I’m in my room noshing on something uninspiring like FRITZ crackers (fake ritz) and generic smoked oysters packed in cottonseed oil (yum) remembering the good ole days when I ate out… and then something happens that literally brings me to my knees, makes me shake and break out in a cold sweat.
An aromatic plume from the super spicy Moroccan Tagine Chicken and Olives my roomates are making downstairs in their state of the art kitchen, wafts into the room, taps me on the shoulder and tickles my nostrils. Then I imagine, the Tagine chicken mocking me… (roll Pussycat Dolls background music) “Don’t ya wish your oysters were hot like me?”
