Leibniz never married. He had considered it at the age of fifty; but the person he had in mind asked for time to reflect. This gave Leibniz time to reflect, too, and so he never married. — Bernard Fontenelle
Last Sunday, my friend Max Boswell asked Jorge and I if we were interested in doing brunch. We countered with an even better idea: we offered to cook brunch for the three of us at his place and eat in his garden. He thought it was a great idea.
To fully understand the implications of such an offer, I must tell you how Mr. Boswell lives. Max lives in a studio in Gramercy, a subterranean living space of 200 ft²- 300 ft². He does not cook ever -- the kitchen is there merely for decorative purposes. Today we will explore what it truly means to be a bachelor by doing a case study in the life of Max. We will finally understand all that bachelorhood has to offer -- as well as its discontents.
Let's start with the contents of his refrigerator:
Dismally empty shelves greet us when we open the door. I see a bag of flour, several diet Cokes, two moldy/rotten oranges, a TV dinner, and some unidentifiable masses. After mustering up sufficient courage, I picked up an item only to realize it was cheese expired by almost an entire year. In fright, I dropped the substance and photographed the putrid-smelling, fungal mass:
Parmigiano -- Reggiano Cheese: Best Used by 11/09/09.
The door of the refrigerator conveys an equally morose existence:
"How embarrassing -- a house full of condiments but no food." -- Tyler Durden
I carefully stepped over the rotten funkinations and examined the contents of the dry cabinets. I discovered classic foods that all bachelors should have fully stocked in their apartment.
Scores of packages of Top Ramen, Hunt's Manwich Original Sloppy Joe Sauce, cans of black beans, and other sundries greeted me contently when I uncovered their dark hiding place above the refrigerator. The cabinet creaked under the enormous weight of the dry goods.
My investigative team also dared to explore the depths of The Bachelor's freezer. We discovered a veritable cornucopia -- no wait, a treasure trove -- of frozen TV dinners enough to feed whole armies of hungry single men incapable of cooking for themselves. Bagel Bites, McCain's Hash Browns, Celeste instant pizzas, Crispy N Tasty, Gorton's Fish Fillets, and Steam Fresh! It was like unearthing an ancient pharaoh's tomb with all the gold and jewels that adorned it in afterlife. Never mind the unidentifiable red substance leaking on the bottom left of the freezer -- these glorious frozen foods were enough to make any lazy couch potato salivate.
I thought I had uncovered all the riches and heavenly pleasures of The Bachelor's food cache when I carefully examined the cabinet further and discovered another bounty of ready-to-eat foods that promoted torpidity and sloth.
Boil-in-Bag White Rice, Instant Mashed Potatoes, and more.
Rice-A-Roni and Hamburger Helper.
Cooking oil was discovered, to our investigative team's surprise. It was like uncovering a bookshelf of diet books inside a fat kid's room. Of course, the oil appeared to not have been used in over a year, as evidenced by the thick oily crust at the top of the plastic bottle. Any label appears to have decayed or decomposed back into nature. We can only speculate.
Of course, all the literature was present as well. Here we can see a required reading for any good bachelor: Rachael Ray's Top 30 Guy Food.
A greasy and stained oven was the only evidence for some early attempts at cooking. With my basic archeological skills, I deduced that The Bachelor had at one point attempted real cooking, but neglected to ever clean the mess that evolved from his failed enterprises.
Finally, a mountain of cat food greeted us from inside the largest cabinet. It was like uncovering Scrooge McDuck's money bin, except filled with Fancy Feast instead of cash.
This rare look at the living styles and consumption habits of The Bachelor have greatly enhanced our limited knowledge of this creature. The bonanza of new information will rewrite basic anthropological texts for decades to come. We are only so lucky that we had access to this sacred shrine of lazy consumption and absolute sloth and filth.
Stay tuned next time, when we uncover the eating and living habits of the rare and exotic creatures of the Upper East Side!