I am a liar. I know I said my next post was going to be about the Week of Indulgence, but I can throw those up at any time. Tonight I have a story about dinner.
Otherhalf is out for the evening, so I was left to my own devices for dinner. (Since he always gets home before me, there’s usually something in the works when I get home. I am spoiled.) Trader Joe’s Sweet Potato Gnocchi with Butter and Sage Sauce would foot the bill for easy-peasy dinner situation. You just pull it out of the freezer and throw it in a pan to cook for 8 minutes. The little frozen pellets of butter melt into an intoxicating sauce while the gnocchi heats through. The only thing was, when I cut the package open and poured it into my pan, I heard NOT a delightful hailstorm of frozen gnocchi and butter nuggets, but the loud thud of a solid brick. So at some point, the frozen gnocchi had thawed enough that the butter melted to the bottom of the package and refroze to turn the whole thing into said brick. On further inspection, it looked like the package had been dropped or something, because there was an open crack in the plastic. This gnocchi has been exposed. Freezer burn is a possibility at this point.
So you would think I would maybe chuck this one into the trash and just eat the carrot and apple slices and humus that I took to work today but didn’t end up eating because someone brought us chocolate croissants (!!!). . . think again. I cooked it anyways. The brick was so hard that in an attempt to separate the stuck-together gnocchi by getting all stabby, I broke one of my favorite Pampered Chef bamboo spoons. (My neighbors probably thought there was gunfire coming from my apartment with all the banging on the metal stove top.)
The gnocchi ended up looking really sad. Like little globules of starchy mush. I should have probably called it a loss and thrown it away at that point. The sauce probably had colonies of who knows what growing in it. But the smell of the butter made my eyes cross and my judgement poor. I Love The Smell Of Butter. And it didn’t look freezer burned . . . I’m going to go with the ol’, “I killed it in the fryin’ pan,” rationalization.
Because I ate it.
**I feel that I should also mention that I have nothing against Trader Joe’s. I really like most of what they offer as far as easy to prepare, somewhat healthy, quick, frozen dinners, and in no way do I hold them responsible for my impending diarrhea.