Mixed Plate: Wasabi Prime and Shameber of Secrets

While not Catholic, I will say admitting one's sins is a cathartic experience. While I have yet to fess up on where I hid Jimmy Hoffa's body and what was really in Al Capone's vault before Geraldo Rivera opened it on live 1980s TV to epic nothingness, I will allow the readers passage into my dark Shameber of Food Secrets. Read on... if you dare.

Pickling myself alive, one pepperocini at a time - Photo by Wasabi Prime

Be honest. You all have weird food favorites or eating habits that never get uttered in those high-falutin' dinner parties where everyone's comparing who's got the most organic heritage quail eggs, harvested by pygmy albinos trained in the Netherlands. Meanwhile, you skitter home and shove handfuls Frosted Mini-Wheats straight from the box into your mouth around midnight, wondering why that little dab of foie gras on toast didn't manage to hold your appetite at bay. As specific as that sounds, it's not me -- I have far worse habits. I'm a salt and vinegar fiend, and I love spicy things, so I regularly eat those pickled pepperocinis that are really meant more as a little vinegar-y flourish as you eat a salad or maybe a plate of antipasti. Not me. I snack on these with abandon, inviting heartburn and a whole litany of acid-reflux consequences. When you wander through the aisles of Costco and see the glass jars of pepperocini, double-wrapped, and the size of mortars, think of me fondly. And with forgiveness in your heart.

Dinner for one - no need to wash any dishes! - Photo by Wasabi Prime

My next epic sin of embarassment is the way I finish off a long day when I don't really need to cook, there's just a few scraps of salad ingredients, and just enough leftover sparkling wine to say, "It saves me from cleaning a glass," versus "Get the Betty Ford Clinic on the line, we've got an intervention underway." Luckily, Mr. Wasabi accepts me for who I am, bad habits and all. And I think when this photo was taken, he was working late, so no one by my own lack of shame had to witness this. Well, and now everyone who reads this. Hi, Mom. I'm more than happy to spend hours or even days preparing a special meal, but when it comes to just me, myself and Wasabi, I don't mind being ghetto-fabulous and only needing to wash a fork after dinner. 

Radioactive cheesy popcorn and a guilty (begging) stare from Indy - Photos by Wasabi Prime

The last item in this Cabinet of Craziness kind of speaks for itself. I'm not sure if microwave popcorn is too plebian for high-end foodies, but furthering insult to injury, I keep a bottle of that radioactive powdered cheese for a little shakey-shakey finish, sometimes resulting in inhaled cheese if it gets airborne. I hear that's how Ebola got its start. The fake butter yellow glow on the microwave popcorn wasn't enough, I had to take this one to Eleven and give it some Three Mile Island Cheesiness as I enjoy this unholy snack during Bones reruns. I do mix it up sometimes, eschewing the freaky cheese powder and sprinkling a little furikake over my popcorn -- the MSG-laden mix of sesame seeds and shreds of nori that you buy at Asian grocery stores. That seems a little more gourmet-acceptible in some circles, despite the fact that I remember having that stuff sprinkled on plain rice mixed with green tea to try and kick the hangover you'll inevitably have the next morning, but whatever. One person's high-end condiment is another's drunken food craving. 

So, I showed you mine. Show me yours -- what do you enjoy in your Shameber of Secrets?

*Note - credit to the term "Shameber" rightly goes to Mr. Luke Burbank and his Too Beautiful to Live podcast gang, as they've been rocking the Shameber term for many years.