You guys know I really do love to cook good food. Those of you who know me well know that most of the time you won’t find anything pre-fabricated in my fridge or cupboard. But there’s something about having a night with just me & Mini Me that just screams for Mister Fritters and fries, with an apple turnover chaser.
I guarantee that we would not be eating like this if Hubster were home. First of all, if he *were* to decide to eat pork fritters, you can bet he’d ONLY eat the Pete’s Pride pork fritters. Hubster’s all high falutin’ like that. That’s the only kind his family ate when he was coming up, and that makes them, therefore, superior. Born with a silver fritter in his mouth, he was. Quite obviously, coming from such an affluent background (one where money was no object, and the Pete’s Pride was abundant) he has no appreciation for what us poor folks ate. Hence his disgust at the mere mention of Mister Fritters. And don’t even think about Spam.
Secondly, Hubster is so doggone spoiled by being married to me, that he thinks he’s too good for pork fritters these days. He thinks because he gets actual FOOD for supper 364 days a year, that someone OWES him real food on that rare day when someone might just want to fry up some pork fritters.
And so it is that whenever Hubster leaves town, Mini Me and I go off the deep end. Last time, I was really hungry by the time I got the fritters fried and scarfed one down, then thought, “Hmmm, I’m still hungry…I think I’ll eat another one.” Yeah. That’s what happens when you eat too fast—your stomach doesn’t have a chance to tell your brain that it’s full. So, I about made myself sick eating another half fritter before I realized that the second helping wasn’t such a good idea. Oh sure, a self-controlled, rational person might have just thought, “Is a second pork fritter EVER a good idea? Nah.” But I’m neither self-controlled, nor rational most of the time. I’m pretty much still the same little girl who ate Cornies ‘til she puked hunter orange all over the avocado green carpet back in 1975.
Of course, I want to eat healthy, so I got a loaf of Flavorite wheat bread to put our fritters on. And, you know, ketchup is almost like a vegetable. I’m pretty sure that cancels out any of the bad attributes of the fritters.
Hubster will probably read this and be like, “No wonder every time I come back from a trip your face is greasy, you’ve gained 5 pounds, and the house smells like the Spelterville Inn.” Now you know, Honey.