Before I left for work, Henry emerged from the kitchen with a plate of food.
"Oooh, pineapple!" I exclaimed, pawing for one. It was warm. Mmm, baked pineapple! A surprise midday dessert, how thoughtful of him.
I popped it in my mouth and confusion was immediate. "Is this meat??" I screamed, slack-jawed.
"It’s polenta, you retard. And it’s for Chooch, not you," Henry said as he shouldered past me.
"But is it meat?" I cried again.
This led to a boring explanation of what polenta is, most of which I zoned out of. "And you better like it," he said at the end of his lecture, "because it’s what you’re having for dinner."
I’m eating it right now, and I think I’m falling in obsession with it. I was leery at first, don’t be mistaken! Two rubbery blocks of cornmeal doused with a red sauce, shredded cheese and mushrooms? Ew. I’m scared when Henry melts cheese atop of his meals, because I assume he’s trying to hide something from me, mask some flavor he thinks I’d be adverse to. The dressed-up planks of mush were buffeted by a southwestern corn mix (straight from the freezer, huh Henry?) with ONIONS. Henry, you asshole.
Collin seemed just as intrigued by it as I was and kept asking me all these questions like I’m a portable Food Network search engine. The best I could do was tell him it had the consistency and texture of a congealed and gelatinous corn pudding.
It has good form, nice spring. I want to be sculpting with it now.
I feel like I want to fry it up with strawberries. (I almost said broiled but then I realized I don’t know what that is.) What’s the best way to eat this junk, anyway?