Abundance: the Suburban Edition

To sift through my mother's fridge is to confront, in a very small, very mundane way, the opulence of the suburbs. It also requires a meticulous eye for reading labels. (I call it my mother's fridge because, while my father consumes most of its contents, it's my mother who is almost solely responsible for the acquisition, placement, and preparation of all that lies therein.)

My brother left home for college a few months ago, while I haven't lived at home since the beginning of 2004. Nevertheless, my mom still shops according to the old suburban, Sam's Club mantra of buying everything in bulk. The result is a sort of GE manifestation of the Holy Roman Empire at the start of it's decline: overly decadent, promiscuous and well past ripe.

Jar after jar of anonymous grey, brown, and green sludge vie for space on the doors. Two bulging containers of lowfat, probiotic vanilla yogurt -- one still unopened -- faithfully girding their contents way past the sell-by date. Packets of instant soba-noodles obstruct one's view of a hamlet of leftovers, each patiently awaiting a single, desperate moment of hunger. Even the cheese & deli meat drawer, my favorite part of the kitchen, contains it's share of hazards: moldy blocks of yellow cheese in the same plastic bag as an immaculate block of mozarella.