Friday, March 12, 2010

The Bachelor

A co-worker asked me what was for dinner tonight. "Probably peanut butter toast," I said, without really thinking. "That's, um...nutritious." She disapproved of my dinner, I think.

Someone completely unrelated told me I was "such a teenager" upon hearing of my dinner practices.

First of all, I live alone. Cooking for one is not worth the hassle. There's no one else to do the dishes either.
Second, dinner isn't my big meal for the day. Lunch is, it makes more sense. After work I get home and sit here, so eating a proper cooked meal seems like a waste of food-converted-into-energy.
Third, I'm not a teenager.

I'm a bachelor, and I shall bloody well live like one.

And I happen to really like peanut butter toast.

Normally I'd have a cup of tea with my peanut butter toast, but tonight I'm having grog. The official definition of grog is watered down rum. I have no mixers nor the motivation to go out and get any.

The cobbler on Lonsdale Street is quite a straight-faced gruff man, and with his rich and abrupt accent from the heart of Eastern Europe he can come across as just plain grumpy. I suspected first impressions were misleading, and my suspicions were rewarded with him gently insisting that my quiet Friday night at home must have one glass of red wine. At least one.

I don't have any red wine, or any wine at all, as I have no palate for the stuff. The grog is a crude bacheloresque substitute, as I always do what I'm told.

Now I'm going to walk around with no pants on and drink milk from the carton.


  1. Friday night solo drinking? Me too! Here's to you, Sir.

    Though I did cook myself dinner tonight so we differ on that score.

    Also, I'm now going to eat ice cream right out of the tub.

  2. The saddest shopping list I ever saw: cat litter, Smash, vodka

  3. Chris, I do the same to ice cream. And for the record I tried to do something responsible for dinner tonight, 'cept when I looked in the fridge all I had was bread, so, er, toast again.

    Ben, was that to me or Chris? ; P

    Conrad, I don't even know what smash is. Sounds like something you do to the cat litter with the vodka.

  4. When the dinner police complain about your peanut butter toast, you might say, 'Yes, but I shall be eating it off the back of my winsome young catamite.'

    (I'm eating smoked salmon out of the packet and dried beans out of another packet and I'm not even a bachelor!)

  5. Smoked salmon! You've passed beyond the realms of bachelor. Food with a short use-by-date is too high maintenance. You are a reasonable sensible eater.

    Maybe if I had a winsome young catamite he'd go get smoked salmon for me...

  6. Ummmm how about an unwinsome aging catamite? Oh wait doesn't - catamitism involves things going in.... Perhaps an unwinsome aging non-catamite?

    Bachelorhood is a ancient and noble institution. We rock. And now I need to put my pants back on before having a fry up. The benefits of the oil and grease foodgroups are just too often overlooked. But ouchies when the fat spits unless covered up.