Anything Lime

Tuna Noodle What?!

One of the greatest purchases Patrick and I ever made was when we first moved in together. We went to Kohl’s and bought a slow cooker — possibly the best $24.99 we’ve ever spent. It’s not only large enough to hold more than enough food to feed the two of us (and many, many more), but its sleek design makes me wish our tiny apartment had room to store it on the counter.

We have done some cooking experiments over the past eight months… some good, some bad, all worth a try. We’ve started a collection of crock-pot recipes and cookbooks, and we’ve loved the ease of preparing these meals: start the food before you leave for work, come home and EAT! It’s wonderful.

The tuna noodle experiment was the worst experience of my life with my slow cooker. The worst part wasn’t that we had tried a new experiment that had ultimately failed. The worst part wasn’t that we had to resort to eating snack food that night as a back up. The worst part wasn’t that we had an entire crock pot full of tuna noodle casserole that we had to throw away. The worst part was, we let the pot “steep” for a week before attempting to dispose of its contents.

I’m not kidding.

Let me elaborate. One week ago (or maybe more, who knows…) we attempted to make a recipe that seemed interesting. It was interesting, but on the opposite end of the spectrum. It wasn’t interesting in a “hmm… this is a new, fun twist on an old dish” way, but rather a “I can’t believe we stuck fish into our crock pot, cooked it for eight hours and then attempted to eat it!” kind of way. If I were to stick my head into Diamond Lake and suck in all the weeds and fish guts, I think it would probably taste like a colder version of what we attempted to eat that night.

(For those of you who didn’t grow up swimming in Diamond Lake, let me help you to understand with a simple comparison. An average lake is to a clean, sparkling, brand new, shiny porcelain toilet as Diamond Lake is to 19-year-old moldy, overflowing construction-site porta-potty. You get my drift.)

So after my first bite I didn’t care whether it hurt Patrick’s feelings that I threw back the food he had so lovingly prepared for me. It broke my heart when he tried so hard to eat it. He was looking forward to this so much that it was as if he was using his mind to create a situation that was much better than this one. Was he ACTUALLY going to put that in his mouth and chew it and swallow it?

No, false alarm. (whew!) He put his back too. Not even the household garbage disposable could make it past bite two. So we put it back in the crock pot, put the lid back on to seal off the awful smell, and we tried to just forget about it. And, I’ll be honest with you, we did. For a week. We let this fishy, noodley pot of food live on the counter for a week.

Last night, after a long day of work for us and daycare for Kya, we walked into our dark apartment and the stench, a stench that can only be described as repugnant, flung us back out the front door.

The place is covered with dirty laundry strewn about in a way that reminds me of my childhood days spent building caves and secret lairs in the endless mountains of my dirty bedroom. Patrick and I had sorted all of our clothes on laundry day, which was on or around the time of tuna noodle casserole day, and our laundry has since become a similar plague on our lives. Now what used to be neat piles of blacks and whites and medium colors and reds is just a swamp of filth that has overtaken our lives and souls. The piles have mixed together, which isn’t surprising considering the balance on the laundry card remains at $0 so we just walk over everything causing an involuntary laundry integration. And it doesn’t help that the dog spends most afternoons rolling in and sleeping on what she can only assume is her new bed.

But, despite all that, we were certain that the smell was coming from the crock pot. (Which, at this point, I was considering throwing away!) A decision was made that something had to be done about this atrocious stink. My suggestion was that we skip the garbage disposal and aim directly for the toilet. Patrick accepted and marched to the bathroom — crock pot under one arm and wooden spoon in the other. When we got there we reevaluated the situation because of a toilet flushing problem we’ve been having (which I’ve been complaining about for days).

So we switched up our game plan and headed for the public bathroom near the laundry/pool area. Patrick followed me outside, still with the crock pot and wooden spoon, and we snuck into the ladies room and locked the door behind us. When he lifted the lid, we smelled death. We took a righteous whiff of everything that is wrong and bad in the world. We gagged at least 30 times each, to a point where I don’t think I’ll ever in my life eat tuna again. Or noodles. Or casserole. Or anything that rhymes with casserole.

There we were, locked in the death chamber with a smell strong enough to paralyze an army of brute lumberjacks. I stopped breathing long enough to flush the toilet with my shoe and run away as Patrick followed, gagging. At that moment I realized that had we taken the lid off of this in our own bathroom, we surely would have been killed. I’ve never been so thankful for a broken toilet.


Trackbacks & Pingbacks

  1. La Vie en Lime: Breathe In « Anything Lime pingbacked on 10 years, 3 months ago


  1. * Aimee says:

    Whitney, you crack me up! I hope you sterilized that crock pot!

    Here’s a delicious recipe:

    Put some boneless skinless chicken breast into the crock pot. Add a can of french onion soup and a can of cream of mushroom soup. Cook all day. Delicious!

    It pairs well with mashed potatoes.

    Love you and miss you!

    | Reply Posted 10 years, 3 months ago

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