They are grey...and yucky. They are small, mushy, salty and gross. Ever since childhood, I have loathed them...their sight, their smell which is a melding of hot dog poop and burnt sugar...(It's competition for the Wawa waft folks. Seriously) My parents think it's funny that I cringe and wince with the mention of them. On occasion, they threaten me with an entree full of them. And no they are NOT eggs. That is an entire episode in and of itself...okay I'd throw mayonnaise in there too just for "shiggles".
Nope. They are canned peas. Ick. Yuck. No thank YOU. Their "shells" are not crisp but offer a resistance when chewed and are slightly gritty. I can only surmise this is from the brine it tastes like when they cook, pack, soak, ship and any other agricultural technique farmers, packers, and shippers can invent to ruin peas. Even opening the can makes me hold my breath like Dizzy Gillespie or Kenny G accompanied by the threatening tickle of bile at the back of my throat. The stench that burps out of that little foul bomb is nothing short of vomitous and sickening.
I remember they (my parents) would tuck them in tuna casserole, chicken pot pie, seven layer salad and chop suey. Who would put them in chop-frickin-suey? Like that is a real dish ANYWAY. My spin on that is that it's simply hot gravy with melted coffee-stir straws and? Yep canned peas. You might sprinkle in those dried up centipedes in a can called "crunchy noodles" made by LaChoy deciding they would add a tasty facet to this make believe meal, but it's all a Betty Crocker facade. Really.
Why the rant? Because I've been inundated with chores, Dr. visits, vet trips, extra work load in the office and in that rush to be in control (not that I NEED to be in control....hahahahha) I forgot to pick up pretty green FROZEN peas in the grocery store. CRAP! And I think I had a buy one GET one coupon. Double Crap! Well, tonight of ALL nights, I need peas. I happened to have a can that I bought almost three years ago as a joke for my dad when he visited. I still wouldn't cook them and he refused to take them home. They have been sitting in my pantry as punishment...for whom I am not quite sure.
I opened the can and counted to ten three times. My eyes were pinched shut and my lips were so tight as I performed this menial task that I am surprised I didn't gouge the counter and pass out. There they were winking at me; grey as could be. They were SO grey they almost disappeared into the aluminum. I had to peek to see if those little boogers were actually in there. They were and we snarled at each other. I dumped them out and looked away in disgust. The bee-bees of bad tasted lolled and limped as I stirred. A shiver trickled down my spine as I finished my shameful, horrible dish and placed in on the table.
"What's this?" the kids asked. My reply was abrupt and I couldn't hide my poor kitchen attitude.
"Dinner." I mumbled.
They shrugged off my malcontent. One bite was all I could take. After washing it down with about a gallon of milk, I had salad for dinner.
"Mommy, this is gooooooood. Let's have it more often. " they gruffled chomping away on their new favorite dish.
The tears of disappointment have been hidden. I will cry later, alone in my room.
Dad? I blame you for this.
I hope you enjoyed YOUR dinner. Dammit.
