Posted by Exile on November 9, 2008
I took another turn in the woodpile today, despite the drizzling rain and the cold wind that blows incessantly across the piece of mossy grass that I call our garden. I worked hard at it today, mainly trying to keep warm whilst reducing the pile of tinder that will bring warmth and comfort to our living room in the coming months. After a while, I was hungry. Lunch.
Trudging over the swamp that our lawn becomes in the winter, I was looking forward to some real sustenance. Meat and bread. Cheese maybe. And a beer to brighten my day. Kicking off my wet shoes and dumping my wet jacket, I headed for the fridge. I flung open the door with a certain sense of impending satisfaction but, to my horror, I was met by a wall of green stuff. Salads, broccoli, ruccola, avacados, a cucumber, pepper fruits, carrots, tomatoes. That sort of stuff. Coca cola, white wine, milk and bottles marked “Aqua D’or”. Potatoes wrapped in kitchen foil. Cold boiled fish, which is for the dogs, not me; jars of marmalade and jam. There is something seriously wrong here. Where’s the ham? Where’s the cheese? No beer? What is going on here?
Attracted by the noise and my grumbling, my good lady appeared. “What are you doing?” She asked. “Looking for something to eat.” I replied. “There isn’t anything. Why is there no food in the fridge?”
We then had a quick discussion about the contents of the fridge and the lack of male foodstuffs. My contention is, that there is no place in a fridge for green things. They don’t belong there. Men don’t want them anyway. Men eat meat. Not grass and the like. My wife’s position is, that the fridge is full of food. I disagree. A lettuce leaf is not going to appease my hunger.
And then I had “the revelation”.
See, I have always thought that there is something pathetic about a man drooling over a salad bar. He is not well. He is mentally incapacitated and not truly up to scratch on the male hormone stakes. Women eat salads. Men don’t. At least, not when they are just looking for that quick food hit in the middle of the day. I haven’t heard any of my mates say anything along the lines of “I could go for a quick salad…” Neither would I. We say things like, “I could kill a burger…” or, “A steak sandwich would hit the spot..” Salads? Not for real men! Sorry ladies, it’s the truth. Accept it. Ruccola is Italian for dandelion. And it isn’t in our vocabulary nor is it on our “must have” food list. You buy it – you eat it. We men don’t. The solution to this, is obvious.
We need separate fridges. Like we have separate toilets in restaurants and bars.
(I always wondered why we have separate toilets in restaurants and bars. I mean, we all do the same stuff in them…and you can lock the door while you do it. Sorry. Back to the subject matter.)
My fridge would be full of the stuff of men’s food needs. Cold meat. Cheese. Butter. Eggs, sausages, bacon. Anything that can be fried in a pan. And beer. You know, real food.
Her fridge would be filled with all that green stuff that the female apparently has a greater need for than cattle or rabbits do. Fruit and such. Ruccola. Those unbearable tasteless ava-bloody-cados that have always seemed pointless to me and yet attract the females like moths to a flame. Root vegetables and the like thereof. There would probably not be any beer, but who cares? I wouldn’t go into her fridge anyway.
So there we have it. The difference of the sexes exposed at last. I realise that not everyone has the room for two fridges in their homes. I also realise the expense involved in running two of these machines. So here’s a thought for the ladies, as you seem to be the ones that do the buying for the family: Print this following paragraph and keep it with you.
Keep a shelf clear in the fridge for the man of the house. Fill it with meat products and cheese. Keep it simple. It has to be instantly available food, ready cooked and not something one has to prepare with a knife or a grater or any other kitchen equipment. It should be grab and eat. No salad. Man is a hunter, not a peel, slice, dice and mixer. Slicing cold meat is all he is capable of at times such as these. He’s hungry now and that’s all he knows and he doesn’t have the time to wash, peel, chop or dice and prepare. He is in a primal state, like a bull on heat, so don’t confuse him with complicated things like kitchen tools.
Do him a big favour. Put a beer or two in there as well, preferably in tins. No time for bottle openers.
He’ll love you for it. He may even reward you with flowers. But you don’t have to eat them even though they are vegetable by definition.
Fill the rest of the fridge with all the green stuff you want. Don’t worry. He isn’t going to eat it. And if you ever hear him ask, “Have we got any ruccola?” around lunch time, then either send him to the doctor or get a divorce, because something is seriously wrong with him!