So, I chose my can my shaking them all and deciding to eat the most interesting sounding can. "G" made a moist squelch-thump, so obviously that was for me! I laid it out on the kitchen counter so I wouldn't forget (like I would, this is so exciting).
I had some time to kill before dinner, so I did what I always do. Incessantly play WoW, do drugs and catch birds in nets. You might think I'm joking, but two of the three I actually did today. Mike probably did something physical and handy like weld old metal into a bench or something.
Eventually, we decided it was time to eat. The night's menu? Chicken topped with spinach souffle and bowtie pasta. And the wetly-smacking tinned delight that awaited us. What's this? Seems to me that someone doesn't think whatever lives in this can is fit for human consumption.
So, time to crack that can and see what treasures await me. What will be inside? I'm half-hoping for a cheeseburger or a log of meat. I don't want chicken! Help me, can, whose top tells me to follow the cooking directions on the missing label! This is what whumped out at me.
Smells spicy, kind of sweet. Moist and heavy. Brown with darker brown inclusions.
Imagine a fig newton. Or like 30 fig newtons wetted down with warm tap water, beaten to a paste, slimed into a can, then steamed in that can. I might also be way off base and this is actually ground up mummies. You know what, G? I don't care if you're ground up mummies, you taste like soggy newton and you're great. You'll be dessert!
Mike went about heating his dinner while I decided I was going to be a little bitch and not eat any chicken, meaning I needed to cut up two slices of American cheese and eat my bowties with that and delicious Ragu.
OMG that dinner was bangin'! I can't wait for my delicious desert! We're fancy around here, so I decided to serve my spicy mummy-loaf warm. Warm from the microwave, that is. Onto a paper plate it went.
I stood with my nose pressed up against the microwave window in anticipation. After what might be considered the most excruciating one minute and fifteen seconds of my life, it was finally done. A cloud of cloying steam issued forth from the mouth of the microwave, and when it cleared it seemed that the loaf had shrunk a bit. Deflated? Gave up? I needed to embarrass it further by dividing it in two. It didn't cut so much as it smashed down to the point where there was no loaf left between the halves. Some pieces did crumble off. I'm not sure how it did that, because it sure as hell isn't dry.
It left quite the greasy stain on that paper plate. The kind where it becomes translucent. Which lead me to decide that a dessert this high-class needs to look the part. Whipped cream and "dandy daisy" sprinkles.
It's sweet and sticks to your teeth to the point where I'm not swallowing anything, but it doesn't taste bad really. Fig newton, but cake-y and dense...like a fruit cake. I soldiered on, even though by about the third bite I really didn't want any more of it.
I stopped when I got a sharp pain in my shoulder.