I thought I wrote about this before, but I searched through my archives and I couldn't find it. No matter. I will tell you about the night that disillusionment touched my tender soul, the night that my sweet, trusting nature was replaced by bitter cynicism, the night I learned the meaning of treachery. It was the night I ate my first frozen dinner.I didn't think I'd see his lying face again, but lo and behold, I found him on a retro food website.



I remember it as if it were yesterday...

The year was 1972 (or so.) I was 3 (or so) and my brother was 7 (or so.) For months, the pirate had promised us deliciousness galore could be found beneath his foil wrapping; I don't recall what it was exactly, but I know chocolate pudding was involved somehow.

We begged our mother, pleaded with her to let this frozen tray of delights into the house. But her heart was as cold as the frozen dinners themselves.

Then, one night, my parents were going out for the night. My mother relented and brought the bounty home for us, since they were eating out in a restaurant.

Into the oven they went (those were the days before microwaves) and we waited breathlessly for the feast to be done.

Finally, the cover was lifted, releasing the steam of childhood fantasy. We were in awe that finally, culinary joy would be ours.

Then we took a bite.

Lying, thieving, deceiver! It was the foulest pile of putrid utility-grade "food" ever approved by the FDA (if in fact it WAS approved.) Even the chocolate pudding was a rubbery disaster.

I have never truly trusted again.