As I drive around in the winter – aka the dreadful abyss that we call Cleveland in February – I often wonder what my favorite foods are doing in my fridge.
I often imagine that my Napa cabbage has broken free of that fat rubber band and is starring at the bag of carrots. Now it’s thick woodie stalks have circled the small already opened bag and is slowly bringing them closer for a better look of the cute ones.

Napa cabbage on the prowl

Maybe the leftover Italian sausage is roughing up my crusty glass shoyu bottles on the top shelf. The Guido-like gruffness is straining the ziplog bag, roughhousing and knocking over the tiny bottles of vanilla extract that have been hiding since we don’t really bake. That sausage made up of a coarse mix of ground pork, fat, and spices must look pretty imposing next to my dainty container of maraschino cherries. I bet the sausage does some fist-pumping when I’m not looking.


Vanilla Extract hiding deep in the abyss

Or are my eggs just a bunch of segregated elitists because they are housed in a separate drawer. Suspended above, they think they live in a gated community safe from the perils of the beer bottles and dressings that could bring doom and gloom to their perfect shell of a life. Eggsalent. 

The elitest eggs

One thing is for sure, I need a new fridge to hold more beer. 

Reporting live from QuarryLaneFarms