I know that usually when you come here, clicking through on your way to some other site, there would be a recipe or a tale of some new decadent thing I had recently cooked or eaten, today however, shall be an entirely different story.
Today you see, I offer one of my white trash, dirty little secrets.
Sometimes I secretly crave onion dip with Ruffles, ridges only please.
I've said it.
I grew up in the 1970s in deep suburbia in a little 495 border town called Chelmsford. My parents were only 16 and 17 years older than me, barely out of being babies themselves. We moved to a typical ranch house and the first thing Dad did was build a bar. It was equipped with all the amenities you could desire like stools and copper rails, and that bitchen little toy that makes seltzer water with tiny little bomb shaped cartridges, and my parents often threw parties. Wild, wild parties.
They were in their mid 20s then. I was allowed to come out and swan around in my pajamas and say hello to everyone and then I would be banished to my bedroom for the rest of the night to watch bad T.V. and press my transistor radio to my ear until I could sleep though the pounding drone of Creedence, Joe Cocker or my Dad's reel to reel's of Arnie Woo Woo Ginsburg and old WMEX 1950's radio shows. These parties would always get a bit wild, a bit crazy and in the morning my parents would sleep late to recover.
In the morning I would tip toe out of my bed and head straight to the family room where the bar was.
Amongst the mess and stale smoke there would always, ALWAYS, be leftover Lipton Onion Soup dip and Ruffles chips along with the dregs of assorted Manhattans and Daiquiri's, stale Sombrero's and beer bottles with cigarette butts dumped down the neck.
I would sit my 10 year old self down and scarf that salty dip for breakfast while watching some cheezy early Sunday morning cartoon like Davey and Goliath reveling in the after party smells that screamed adult to me.
Years later when I moved out and lived with the jazz musician, we used to frequent this real dive bar on the waterfront right near the world trade center. All his friends at the neon shop where he worked days would come over and we would drink ourselves silly on cheap whiskey and beers. Every time I walked in that bar it smelled like those parties, a lingering aroma of cigarettes and stale beer and it took me back to those parties, only this time I was a part of it all and no one was sending me to bed, although looking back, they probably should have on a good few occasions.
Last night we decided to make burgers. Husband was having his with fries and me, well, let's just say there is one less box of Lipton Soup mix and Sour cream at our local Star.
For Shame...For shame.
Any dirty food secrets in your cupboard?