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Attack of the Food Eroder — or — “The Ninja Nibbler of the Night”

“Women shop. Men resupply.”

When I worship at the Cathedral of Food ( “Whole Foods — Why Pay Less?”), I don’t buy meals, I buy components. I’ve lived alone for some time but buy like I’m supplying a small tribe. I’ve tried to control this by selecting the “little” cart; that grocery Miata that lets you believe you’re not really buying as much as you are. It doesn’t work. I come home, unpack my “kills” — at about $69 a bag — and mumble, “Who’s going to eat all this?”

Houseguests are the gods’ answer to “Who’s going to eat this?” They are. That’s okay. I love to cook for people. I’m good at it and it gets boring cooking for one; expensive too since I loathe leftovers.

The supply problems return when your house guests are stealth eaters. You know who I mean. Yes, you. Stealth eaters never, ever overeat — except on the sly. Stealth eaters are the Merrill’s Marauders of the post-midnight refrigerator.

Ordinary stealth eaters can be contained. The damage done by their pillage is obvious. You had half of a banana cream pie in the frig at sunset but by dawn it is gone. Vanished. Evaporated. Kaput. Never to be heard from again. Not so much as a ransom note, just a crumpled tin husk folded and stuffed down the side of the garbage bag beneath the camouflage of a crumpled milk carton.

Not pleasing, especially when you were planning on banana cream pie for breakfast. Still, you suck up your sorrow, move on, and resupply.

Not so with the worst sort of stealth eater — the dreaded food eroder.

The food eroder wishes to eat but not be seen eating nor to be known to have eaten. The food eroder is so stealthy he or she can even conceal their eating from themselves. The food eroder can make your entire refrigerator into a Potemkin village where you think you have a LOT of food, but actually have almost none. A food eroder deals in cuisine disinformation.

Case in point:

Some weeks back I had a house guest. This houseguest was a very careful eater — someone cognizant of the fine points of nutrition; someone who knew the calories in a twice-baked potato down to the last bacon bit swimming in a buttered slough of sour cream. This nameless but shameless someone also had a finely tuned economic indicator and never met a leftover that was not loved, caressed, and consumed — even when the original meal was lost to recorded history.

I once had a kind of grudging respect for this guest who was so much more disciplined about food than I could ever hope to be. But that was before I discovered — after the guest’s departure — that I had been sharing my home and sacred refrigerator with a food eroder, a late-night Ninja nibbler.

You see, in order to fulfill my male mission of re-supply, I need to know what supplies are actually on hand. With a food eroder, this cannot be known since — if you do not actually hand-inspect every item in your larder — you can never be sure of the quantity. What you can be sure of, I now know, is that a food eroder will guarantee you have less than you think.

The clearest example of this is — as I have discovered today — the most often decimated target of any self-respecting food eroder, ice cream.

About a month ago I noted that the house had no ice-cream in the freezer. This is not good — especially should an after-midnight-ice-cream emergency break out while watching, say, “I Got the Hook-Up.”

To prepare for such an emergency, and thus avert an ice-cream crisis, I resupplied the freezer with a full half-gallon of French Vanilla. Since my house guest was looking a bit peckish at the time I offered to make a couple of sundaes (caramel sauce, shaved almonds, etc.). My guest gracefully accepted and the half-gallon of ice-cream supply was reduced by perhaps a pint overall. This left around three pints. Such was the state of the ice cream three weeks ago at last check. Need for resupply? Negligible.

Fast forward to today when I was suddenly stricken with an ice-cream-emergency (While watching, yet again, “I Got the Hook-Up.”) and staggered to the supply in the freezer. As I removed it I noted it felt strangely light for a container that should have contained about three-pints. You can only imagine my shock when upon opening it I discovered that it contained only about a half-inch thickness of ice cream covering the now far-distant bottom.

But that was not the worst of it.

On closer examination, the surface of that razor-thin level of ice cream was scored by a series of small parallel grooves across it from side to side. It was as if somebody had gone back and forth over the ice cream with a teaspoon like a lawnmower.

I knew then I had been hit by the food eroder. I knew that, over several nights, my ice cream had been hit again and again and again.

Just a little this time. Just a little more that time. Then a bit again when the compulsion struck. And all, it was clear, in a shameful and furtive way as I slept.

This degradation probably went on and on until the food eroder could no longer avoid the terrible truth that nearly a half a gallon of ice cream had been consumed whilst standing at the refrigerator with spoon in hand. At that point, shame overcame the eroder and the container was placed carefully back in the refrigerator so that it would appear to be undisturbed.

The food eroder escaped without ever having to face the shame. I’m off to resupply and thus avoid a post-midnight ice-cream crisis. My only solace is that I know that the food eroder, now back home and faced with a refrigerator stocked only with the desiccating remnants of cantaloupe and celery is still having to walk an extra two miles every day in penance. Ice cream giveth, but ice cream doth not taketh away.

Meanwhile, my stock is back to normal. But I am taking steps to avoid future shock. I’m installing a state of the art motion-sensing alarm on the refrigerator instead of my previous sign that said, “Too late. Already here.”

Comments on this entry are closed.

  • Mike Anderson August 4, 2019, 7:10 AM

    In my callow youth I developed an ice cream eroding technique that involved scooping out servings from the “unopened” end of the brick-like carton. Can’t do that anymore, not with all these newfangled chi-chi round and oval cartons.

    Oh, and those “little” carts at the supermarket. I call those Sports Carts; they’re more manuverable, turn on a dime, and much easier to park. Although I’ve noticed my local grocery behemoth, H-E-B, is gradually upgrading their stores with BIGGER “little” carts. (Only available in finer neighborhoods; poor folks just wheel them down the block)

  • OneGuy August 4, 2019, 8:12 AM

    We have a Whole Foods store in town. I went there the first time looking for dried chives. Couldn’t find them at the supermarket so thought I would try Whole Foods. Found them, small bottle for $7. Whoa! $7!!! So I made do with green onions from Walmart for $.50 a bundle. I have gone back to whole foods maybe 3 times since, but not to shop. But to laugh at the fools paying twice as much for the same thing you can buy at Walmart (actually I think I’m wrong; 3 times what it costs at Walmart and twice what it costs at Safeway).

  • ghostsniper August 4, 2019, 9:09 AM

    @One dood, if you have a Rural King close by you can get a plastic bottle of dried chives for about a dollar. That’s where I get them and I put dried chives on almost everything. The bottle is about 4″ tall and 1-1/4″ diameter. I stock em deep around these parts. Dried onions, and garlics too.

  • MIKE GUENTHER August 4, 2019, 12:18 PM

    Ice cream thieves, huh.

    When me and my brothers were kids, our folks would buy ice cream in the three gallon tubs. Usually one Vanilla, one Chocolate and one Strawberry. Those should have lasted a while, but for a while, they didn’t.

    Brothers and I would wake up early on Saturday mornings to watch cartoons while Mom and Pop were still snug in their beds. We’d each grab a tub of ice cream and a table spoon…no teaspoons for us, and sit in front of the TV eating our “breakfast.”

    When we heard them stirring around to get up, we’d hurry and put the ice cream back in the freezer. ( We had a large freezer in the garage.)

    We got away with it for a while until one of my brothers left their dang spoon in the tub. Pop installed a hasp and lock on the freezer after that.

  • Brio August 4, 2019, 2:39 PM

    A full half gallon of ice cream you say. I haven’t seen a true half gallon of ice cream in decades. Oh it looks like the traditional half gallon but the label says 1.5 quarts—decidedly less than a half gallon. Why it’s as if the food erosion starts before you bring it home from the store.

    I am amazed at the claim of checking on a tub of ice cream after 3 weeks of sitting in a freezer. It wouldn’t have lasted 3 days in my freezer. I’ve been known to eat a “half gallon” tub in one day. No I am not a tub of lard even without the extra walking. It happens two or three times a year.

    Finally, maybe I was raised wrong. When I stay at someone’s house, I make it a point to buy groceries above and beyond what I eat. I would have replenished that ice cream several times and would have probably left an extra container by the time I left.

  • Brio August 4, 2019, 2:56 PM

    Mike: That is funny. The hijinks of boys is hard to contain. Did you guys switch flavors or stay with the same bucket each time? What brother came up with this scheme—the eldest? The other brothers readily agreed to go along or did one say he was going to snitch to mom and dad?

  • Alexandria Dumas August 4, 2019, 6:23 PM

    What I don’t get is eating almost every bit of something, like grated cheese, and leaving a teaspoon, not enough to do anything with. And eating almost all the cereal and leaving a tiny bit in the box, just finish it already! I once went through the cereal shelf, dumped all the almost empty boxes in a bowl, and ended up with one bowl of cereal, 12 empty cereal boxes and an empty shelf. People, just finish the stuff so I’ll know to buy more.