Your web-browser is very outdated, and as such, this website may not display properly. Please consider upgrading to a modern, faster and more secure browser. Click here to do so.
One of my most comforting comfort foods is Albanian-style dried meat. If you didn’t grow up on it, you probably wouldn’t like it but I love it and I never get to have it anymore.
My mom packed a Ziploc bag full of them—one sandwich bag inside of a Ziploc bag because oh boy do they smell—for my train ride to Chicago last week. I ate less than half the bag because that is a lot of dried meat.
I forgot about it. There are a bunch of foodstuffs chilling on our corner counter by the cereal, like cookies and a stray bag of potato chips (Kimball gets annoyed when he has to go into the lazy susan to get a bag of chips—that is some serious junk food laziness right there). I don’t like that food hangs out there, but it does.
Today I found my Ziploc bag of my precious dried meat under the couch, bite marks littering the bag. Charlie managed to get all of the dried meat out of the inner sandwich bag, but had not yet succeeded in getting whole pieces of dried meat out of the outer bag. I fucking FREAKED OUT. I can’t eat this now! My god damn cat has been gnawing on this. Half of a Ziploc bag of my favorite comfort food needs to be thrown out. I yelled at him while holding the bag, sprayed him with water, and (sadly) tossed the bag into the garbage.
For some reason, he seems to actually feel bad about it and followed me around a bit. I said sternly, “You are seriously underestimating how furious I am, Charlie.” Too bad he doesn’t understand words.