i don’t recall under what circumstances it entered my house initially, as i have never been a great fan of cream, but seemingly out of nowhere 15% cream has become a Snake Hollow staple that has been finding its way into a perhaps distressing proportion of the things i put into my body of late.
i know, at least, where this particular carton came from – last week for the First Annual Snake Complex SeaCreature Spectacular* we made mussels with a tarragon cream sauce, but this being my 4th serving (by which i mean incident of ingestion, not the designated 1tbsp serving size indicated in the carton’s nutritional information) in the past 12 hours, i reflect with relief that i have yet to undergo The Thickening to which many of us are subjected in our late 20s. between yesterday’s late-night chowder dinner, cream-heavy scrambled eggs this morning followed by biscuits with cream and blackcurrent syrup, and the pseudo-White Russian that i am currently drinking;** i trust that my father’s trim figure, brought about by the serious intestine-reducing surgery he underwent as a youth, has somehow by virtue of sympathetic genetic drift endowed me with a similar indifference to my cholesterol intake, such that i may continue to look myopically forward, just to the side of my Likely Future (kidney transplant?), to an alternate future where we’re all shooting at zombies with longbows from tree-forts.
* there are a lot of changes afoot at my apartment this summer. i have a new roommate in july, and come august, two of my best friends are moving into the apartment directly beneath us, all of which will contribute to the expansion of the Snake Hollow household to the booming economy of Snake Complex. we have accordingly started partying as if the new household was already in effect, so that we will be in good form when we actually do live in 12-foot proximity of one another. one wouldn’t want to pull a muscle, after all. the First Annual Snake Complex SeaCreature Spectacular, previously the known as the Sea(Food)Quest Club Mixer and Octo-Q was born out me saying one day “Holy shit, let’s try to bbq a whole octopus” and us deciding that we needed to form a club with the sole aim of driving to Maine, eating all their clams, and passing out drunk on a beach sometime this summer. probably whilst listening to Blue Öyster Cult’s “Burnin’ For You” on repeat.
** it has become my habit when too lazy to walk to the corner for a chocolate bar, and too contemptuous of apples, to turn to the White Russian as a means of satisfying my post-meal sweet tooth. i still loathe cream in my coffee, but happily substitute the coffee for vodka when i am in the mood for a virgin White Russian, that i suppose maintains “virginity” in roughly the same spirit as do blowjobs.