What's cooking?

One of my favorite restaurants in college was a little dive on the side of the highway. They have the most amazing pizza and Mexican food (random, right?) ever. It is totally the best PMS food in the world. Shrek would never take me there though because he knew I liked it. He was a dick that way. He made-up some lame excuse about how he was allergic to everything on the menu. He had a lot of made-up allergies which only remembered he had if it meant ruining something I wanted to do. Honestly, if he were actually allergic to half the things he claimed to be allergic to, he would have to live in a bubble and only eat rice cakes. But this entry is not about Shrek or his apparent allergies to everything.

Ok, so, the restaurant. Love it. Didn't go there much while I was dating Shrek. He was a jerk.

When I started dating Fred, I suggested that we go there for dinner one night. Not being a crappy person, he agreed to try it out. He even managed to find something on the menu that he was willing to eat (have I mentioned he's a really picky eater?). Since Fred insisted on getting an appetizer, I was full before I finished my enchiladas, so I got the remainder of them boxed-up.

We ended up going home after dinner and spent the night drinking and playing video games. Around 3am, I was still up and starving. Knowing that I still had my leftovers in the fridge, I asked Fredto go to the kitchen and heat them up for me.

Now, I knew that Fred couldn't cook, but I figured it doesn't take a rocket scientist (ha!) put an enchilada in the oven. I told him just to set the oven to warm, and put the enchilada on a pan and leave it in there for a few minutes. He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, then came back and we played some more video games.

A few minutes later, I told him it was probably time to take it out, so we went back to the kitchen. As soon as we stepped into the hall, I smelled something completely foul coming from the kitchen. It only got worse as we approached.

I opened the oven and saw sitting inside a half-melted Styrofoam box on a cookie sheet with my enchilada peeking out through a hole that was burned through. Disgusting.

The melted box was all over my food and I couldn't eat it. Not to mention, it was probably toxic. I should probably say at this point, Fred was 21 years old. TWENTY-ONE FRICKIN' YEARS OLD AND HE DIDN'T KNOW STYROFOAM MELTS IN THE OVEN! Furthermore, it wasn't like he was an English or Phys Ed major--he majored in a science so there is no excuse.

To make matters worse, he was a typical man so all he had to eat in his house was beer, generic slim jims and a three-month-old petrified piece of teriyaki chicken that he called "Sparky." So I was sitting there in the middle of the night, starving and suffocated by the stench of Styrofoam enchiladas.

Needless to say, his inability to heat an enchilada made for a bad night for all parties involved.