Food Fetish

Are you a food person?

Food people are those who simply enjoy food as an interest, a hobby or a vocation. Typically, they enjoy talking about food, planning meals or learning more about food preparation.

Food people usually enjoy eating, of course. But, this doesn't mean they're overweight or eat too much.

Food people just like food. It's that simple.

***

Friday morning was grey, damp and foggy.

The mild temperatures and frequent rain of the last few days have almost melted the Sack's accumulation of snow. In combination with the greyness, this gave the Sack an uncharacteristically drab appearance.

The drabness was also enhanced by several streams of household garbage in the middle of the street. Unfortunately, garbage collection had already occurred several hours earlier.

***

On the previous evening, there were very high winds. It's possible that a few garbage cans blew over during the night as they awaited collection in the morning. It's also plausible that the old town's waste management professionals were a bit distracted in their work today.

It could've been a little bit of both that caused the mess.

A lot of garbage was in front of Florence's house. Mrs. Wonders and I are looking after her home while she cavorts at her cottage.

Feeling vaguely responsible for the mess in front of Florence's house, and with the gentle, but persistent urging of Mrs. Wonders, I went out to clean up the garbage.

***

Most of the garbage was unremarkable. A few pieces of Christmas wrapping, packaging from a set of screwdrivers, and the empty box to a woman's bra were just a few examples of the stuff on the street. I took a green garbage bag with me and filled it as I walked.

With one exception, there wasn't any wet, rotting food among the neighbourhood trash. The exception, however, was quite remarkable.

Piled in a small heap, several feet in front of Florence's driveway, was a Caesar's salad. There wasn't a bowl or container to be seen.

It was just a small pile of Caesar's salad.

***

Regretfully, I am not a food person. I can offer neither rhyme nor reason for this state of affairs. It just seems to be the way it is.

Mrs. Wonders was summoned to the scene. She was the one to positively identify the Caesar's salad.

I just made the discovery.

***

If there is garbage on a street, it's common to run across food waste. It's almost to be expected. But the Caesar's salad was notable by its neat, organized appearance. It wasn't strewn about the road. Instead, it was in a nice neat pile.

The Caesar's salad is even more remarkable when put in its proper context. It's the second food product discovered on the street in the last month. A few weeks ago, I found a solemn muffin at the bottom of our driveway. Mrs. Wonders identified it as low-fat blueberry muffin.

***

It is hard to gauge the significance of these food discoveries. It could be just coincidence and mean nothing at all. Oscar thinks it might be an omen or metaphorical message of some kind.

I remain very doubtful about this.

But, of course, I'm not a food person.

***

It wasn't long before food unexpectedly showed up on my horizon again.

Computer Doug came out and started walking toward me across his muddied lawn. I had obtained two snow shovels to collect the Caesar's salad off the street. I was using the shovels like giant salad tongs to pick up the salad and deposit it in my garbage bag.

Computer Doug said it was the first time he had ever seen anyone shovelling Caesar's salad. He wanted to get his video camera to capture the moment. Thankfully, he didn't. I don't want to be seen across the Internet shovelling Caesar's salad. That's undoubtedly what Computer Doug would do with a video of that kind.

***

Fortunately, Computer Doug had more important things on his mind. He needed to borrow my shop vacuum. Apparently there had been a spill of some kind in the back of his Dodge Caravan. His wife, Marion had insisted that he give the vehicle a good cleaning before it started raining again.

According to Computer Doug, the spill had been quite spectacular.

On the previous night, the Computer Doug family packed the van for a trip to a nearby relative's home. There was going to be another holiday gathering and it was going to be a potluck affair. Mrs. Wonders tells me that food people can be quite fond of potluck affairs.

Marion had prepared a pot of Swedish meatballs for the gathering. It had cooled in the fridge before they left. It just needed to be heated up again later.

Computer Doug packed the back of the van with the usual gear associated with a family with two young children. As he put it, "There was a lot of crap back there."

Somewhere in the midst of knapsacks, toys and pillows, Computer Doug placed the plastic container of Swedish meatballs. He said he packed it in as best as he could.

***

During the drive to the relative's home, Computer Doug had to use his brakes very suddenly.

The container of Swedish meatballs opened and its contents spewed from the back of the van toward the front. It was as if, he said, someone had shot a cannon filled with Swedish meatballs toward the front seat.

His two young boys wore most of the sauce over their heads and necks. His wife, Marion took several direct meatball hits to the back of her head. Thankfully, she was wearing a toque, so her hair was relatively untouched.

Computer Doug said he probably got the worst of it. He said he had bits of Swedish meatball in his hair and down the back of his shirt. He even found a small piece in his ear.

***

Understandably, the kids were quite upset with having Swedish meatball sauce all over them. Computer Doug says they prefer to do this themselves, rather than having it flung at them unexpectedly.

Marion was very upset with Computer Doug. She thought he should have been more careful with how he packed the van. Computer Doug said Marion should have put a better lid on the container.

Either way, Computer Doug had to clean up the Swedish meatball mess on the inside of the van. He said it wasn't on his "top ten list of things to do today," but he had no choice in the matter.

The worst part of it all was that he doesn't even like Swedish meatballs. He told me this as he extracted a dark, squishy substance from under the driver seat.

"I am not," he said with a grimace, "what you might call a food person."

***