On Fried Fridges and Food Funerals — B.G. and M.M.

August 7th, 2022:

Before we begin, let me just say that when I started this blog, I did NOT anticipate even one post that revolved around cheese, let alone more than that. But we must not question the muse. Apparently my life involves way more cheese than I thought it did.

PART ONE: THE DISCOVERY

Last winter I discovered something magical in Gale’s fridge. She wasn’t there, of course. We were like ships passing in the night, me returning from Central America, her on her way to Brazil. We actually did see each other for two minutes after her Covid quarantine in December, when she was on her way to Mexico with the kids. I was walking up the steps at the exact same time as she was descending them to meet the Uber that would take them to the airport.

We joked about it, how we couldn’t seem to manage to be in the house at the same time. For about two straight months I would be gone, then she would be gone, then I would be gone…It was like our friendship used to be, back when we only saw each other once in a while. Only, you would have thought that once we lived together we would see each other a bit more often!

So anyway. For most of December it was just me and Nacho, the cat in Gale’s beautiful, empty home.

Nacho the cat and Kitty Willow the Pillow

Nacho suddenly paid a lot more attention to me, now that he was reliant on me for food and everything. We had a frank discussion in which I explained to him that no, I would not be overfeeding him like he was used to with the kids, and NO, absolutely he was not allowed to try to wake me up at 5:30am just because he felt entitled.

In return, I promised to be consistent with the 7am feedings. I also explained that I had allergies but would pet him with my foot.

We came to an understanding and loved each other from a distance after that.

Anyway. The fridge. In Gale’s fridge I discovered what is now my absolute favorite brie in the universe. I opened it just to taste one day, and it was love at first bite.

Her return grew nearer, and the brie wheel turned into a brie half, then a brie quarter, then a brie-okay-I’m-sorry-I-guess-I-ate-it-all.

So I decided to be a good roommate and replace it.

PART TWO: THE DECADENCE

Ummm…did you know that good brie is expensive?? I don’t have a lot of expensive tastes in life…I don’t need brand name purses or designer jeans. Cheap lingerie is just as hot as the expensive kind.

The point is, I’m low maintenance!

Usually.

Not when it comes to brie though, apparently.

I bought the wheel despite its price tag, stuck it in Gale’s cheese drawer, and tried not to eat it all before she came home.

I felt very virtuous.

In the months that have followed, I have developed the habit of looking for the brie in the cheese aisle anytime I go shopping, determining the quality of the supermarket based on the price of the wheel.

Adonis had a sale one day for $3 off! And the wheel did last me a month, so that’s not too bad.

Then, right before Hazel’s visit, I went to a Provigo in NDG that did not have a sale. In fact, the prices were so hiked up that the sales assistant advised me point blank not to pay that much.

I did it anyway. No, I’m not gonna tell you how much I paid for it, because you would judge me. Plus, I saved $3 on a sale on salsa (the only thing in the store that wasn’t priced for rich people) and chalked up the overpriced brie wheel as breaking even and saving me from more errands later. My justification was that I really wanted Hazel to try the cheese. (Ironically, we didn’t even need to break open the new wheel, because while she was here, we discovered something even more magical.)

PART THREE: A MOMENT TO DISCUSS REFRIGERATORS

Backing up a second. In March, when I moved into my new apartment, I arrived to shiny, beautiful new appliances. That had been one of the attractions; my apartment was in a beautiful old building that nonetheless offered modern luxuries because it had recently been entirely renovated and the appliances, replaced.

I figured I would be able to move in quickly and never have to talk to my landlord.

Joke was on me!

That’s because one week in, the refrigerator and freezer completely stopped working.

Do not buy this fridge. The temperature guage LIES!

Luckily global warming still couldn’t manage to get Montreal above freezing even though spring had technically already begun that week in March. So I stuck all my perishables into a giant tupperware and put it on the porch. Then I spent all day moving the tupperware so that it would stay in the shade.

That became my kitchen storage for the week. I should mention, too, that I had no freezer, and Haagan Daaz ice cream had just been on sale at the P.A. Baby Girl had lost her mind and bought…9 pints?

“Just for safe-keeping,” she had informed me. “It’s good consumerism!”

So we went downstairs to our brand new neighbor’s door and knocked. (The neighbor on Floor 2, not to be confused with the neighbor on Floor 1, who you will remember from my story about late-night doorbells and police officers.)

She was astonished but kind, and managed not to burst out laughing when I explained my ice cream predicament. She then generously agreed to harbor my 9 pints of half-melted ice cream.

As an afterthought, Baby Girl remembered the frozen shrimp might require the neighbor’s freezer as well.

In the meantime, I tried to cook all the thawing meat right away and mostly succeeded in not losing too much of my food. I only accidentally sacrificed one loaf of bread to the squirrels after lazily sticking the bag on top of the tupperware instead of inside.

I spent all week juggling perishables like batons.

Oh, but don’t be fooled. After one week, the tupperware part ended. (Thank god.) But the refrigerator saga itself lasted far longer. It lasted three fucking months, and was far too boring and stressful to recount to you, so I’ll just provide a bullet list of the essentials:

• This began on a Friday night, and obviously the fridge company wasn’t picking up phone calls.
• On Monday my landlord got the fridge company on the phone.
• On Wednesday, a technician finally arrived and pronounced the fridge dead. (Um, duh!)
• THEN…HE LEFT! He couldn’t do anything, he said. It needed a part.
• On Thursday we were informed that the part was on back order, so the fridge would be replaced.
• We were also informed that the fridge itself was on back order.
• On Friday, a short and squat vinyl 80s fridge arrived.
• (With a lot of grumbling from its deliverers since I lived on the top floor.)
• To bend down to the bottom shelf required the flexibility of an olympic gymnast.

I had a (temporary) fridge again. Hallelujah.

• On Friday, THEY DID NOT TAKE THE OLD FRIDGE AWAY! It remained in the middle of my apartment for two months because something-something-chip-shortage-can’t-fix-it-now-will-replace-it-but-don’t-want-to-take-it just-wait-okay-bye
• ?!?!?!?!
• In early May, the company finally remembered that I existed.
• We scheduled a pickup for the broken fridge still sitting in the middle of my apartment at a time when I wouldn’t have to interrupt any meetings.
• On pickup day, the 7:30-12pm window came and then went. Baby Girl began to suffer severe cabin fever and we really wanted to leave the house, but we wanted even more for the “decorative” fridge to be gone.
• At 12:45 my landlord called them and apparently without bothering to let us know, they were running late.
• At 1:30 they announced that they’d switched me from the morning window to the afternoon one, and I should remain in the house for four more hours.
• By now I was working and decided that rather than delay any longer, I would simply discuss the potential interruption with my clients beforehand (which PS, in my line of work, interruptions are NOT okay).
• My clients were exceedingly understanding. I guess everyone has had a fridge problem before.
• There WERE no interruptions because nobody came!!!!!
• By 5:33 my workday was over and the afternoon window was done and gone. I had by now been waiting at home for ten hours and finally decided that fridge pickup or not, I needed to get out of the house. That’s when my landlord texted to tell me that they were literally around the corner.
• At 5:42pm, the pickup guys arrived, and with much grumbling, carted away the old, broken refrigerator.
  
  I will take this moment to say that I very much appreciate the people who make it their jobs to remove refrigerators, and I do not blame them for one second for the refrigerator’s untimely demise. I just can’t do anything about the fact that I live three floors up.
• In mid-June, after three months of waiting, I finally received my replacement fridge, and the old one was even carted away that very day! I had my kitchen back, and a beautiful, functioning refrigerator to boot!

End of the story?

Sadly…No.

PART FOUR: A FOOD FUNERAL

Last night I got home from the family reunion. I was back a day early because Marisol, Andrés and I decided to do a midnight road trip and left at 8pm, which will be Baby Girl’s topic to write about later.

I was welcomed home to a warm apartment and an even warmer refrigerator.

Gah gah :(

Pretty much everything in the fridge had rotted. This replacement fridge is the same exact model as the original, so I’m pretty sure the model itself is just fucked.

The weird thing is that this time, the freezer is fine. Go figure that.

I hadn’t left much in the fridge since I was planning to be away for 12 days. But I did have tofu, miso, some root vegetables, jam, salsa, yogurt, oyster sauce, peanut sauce-special-from-my-brother’s-because-I-love-it-so-much…a brick of haloumi cheese I’d been inspired to try frying…another brick of cheddar cheese…

And the brie wheel.

The brie wheel. THE brie wheel, that I paid way too much money for because it’s the best brie in the world!

WAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Baby Girl was in denial at first, fishing ice out of the freezer and trying to rescue it, as though a bit of ice now could un-do the last week it had spent in a rotting refrigerator. It was like watching her try to give CPR to a dead man.

Eventually I told her she should probably open the cheese up and look inside.

“It is beautiful!” she insisted. “Practically like normal.”

“Mold is not normal,” I said gently.

“Moldy cheese is salvageable!” she argued, undeterred. “Cheese IS mold!”

I hated to make her see it, but I knew she had to.

“Look a bit closer,” I told her.

“NO,” she cried violently, “There are NOT tiny little orange dots growing all over it with a strange smell emanating to boot!”

I agreed to leaving it in its ice bath if that helped make her feel better, and we could argue about whether or not to eat it later.

She was much better behaved for Mommy this morning when Mommy said in a voice so loving but firm that it even would have taught orangutangs their manners,

“Oh sweet baby girl, absolutely not. Some of the mold that grows on that stuff could kill you.”

We couldn’t really argue with that, and with a soft, sad sigh, we tossed the dead cheese into the compost and the wrapper, into the garbage.

We fished the wrapper out of the garbage a couple hours later to photograph the (still-not-reached) expiration date. After all, who knows what we may need for evidence when the murder investigation begins.

PART FIVE: A FOOD FUNERAL

Dear Brie,

We hope you had a nice life. We hope you understand that even though we did not actually eat you, you were loved. You were appreciated. You were seen.

Love,

Baby Girl and Mistress Me

P.S. Clearly this story is not over because now I have a broken fridge sitting in my kitchen. I’ll keep you posted, and will also try to remember that these problems, while frustrating, are not bad problems to have when you consider that some people in this world would love to even possess a refrigerator at all.