Kraft Dinner

I live on Kraft Dinner. I love it. Kraft Dinner and I have a special relationship. Mostly because I can't afford to eat anything else.

Lately, I've been partial to Easy Mac. I love it. I can't get enough. I've consumed enough carbs worth of Easy Mac in the last two years to make a small foreign nation obese. The only reason I'm not obese from having consumed so many packages of Easy Mac is that my body is so starved for actual nutrients that it is making use of every possible food item I ingest.

Tonight is was Wednesday night, and I was home at the ranch returning my mother's vehicle to her possession. She was trying to hold me hostage last week through not returning me to my beloved hole in Hell, so I simply stole her car and made off with it.

Wednesday nights at the ranch have special meaning to the younger members of my sanity-lacking family. (By that I mean that on Wednesday nights my nephew and I get treated with out favorite dinner: One made by Kraft, if you get my drift).

My father is the master of making Kraft Dinner. THE MASTER. He makes it with his own brand of tender loving care and gets it so creamy and right. People from all walks of life rave about my father's ability to make Kraft Dinner. (And his ability to walk into Manitoba Maples in the middle of a forty acre field and impale himself on its branches. But that's another entry.)

Tonight, for some reason unbeknownst to myself and the Kraft Dinner Gods, I decided to give my father a break and prepare the feast myself. I started out by putting two pots of water on to boil. One for the Kraft Dinner, one for the weiners. I decided to use hot water to make the KD water boil faster, and cold so that the wieners wouldn't be done too soon.

My father, bless his soul, only cursed quietly under his breath.

I was stirring away happily wondering why the weiner water hadn't boiled yet.

Then, I decided to actually turn on the wiener water. (Okay now, say weiner water ten times fast. Really, it's a stress reliever).

By this time, the KD water was happily boiling away. So I proceeded to dump the entire contents of the KD boxes into the boiling water. Along with the packets of cheese sauce.

I was then treated to plucking the cheese packets out of the boiling water with my hands.

I was concerned at this point that the weiner water still wasn't boiling. SO I decided to carry the pot of very-very-very hot water to the sink, with one hand, while continuously stirring the KD noodles to prevent them from boiling over.

And I tripped over my left foot and dumped the very-very-very hot water on my right foot.

At this point my father, who is THE MASTER of making Kraft Dinner, peered around the closed kitchen door and gave me a glare that only THE MASTER of Kraft Dinner could muster.

It was at this point that the noodles became overcooked and too mushy.I drained them and they turned into a mashed conglomoration of noodles in the bottom of the wrong strainer. Yes, I used the wrong strainer to strain the noodles.

The weiners had STILL NOT BOILED at this time and my blood pressure was rising. My father dared once more to peer around the closed door. At this point, his face turned red and that little vein in his forehead stuck out a little further. (That would be the vein beside the scar from when he impaled himself on the Manitoba Maple. The one that was in the middle of a forty acre field).

I started stirring the cheese powder (which had turned chunky and into a radioactive-looking color of orange) into the mash-y noodles.

And declared supper to be ready. (Although I admit I never declared it fit for human consumption).

My family sat down to a dinner of undercooked wieners and overcooked Kraft Dinner that was a radioactive shade of orange that had been strained in the wrong strainer and had entire packets of cheese powder dumped into them prematurely.

And Dammit, they liked it.

Toonses