Not kidding: (!) Michael, that is to me a beautiful, beautiful story.
It is the kind of thing I used to do more of, before becoming a little hardened, in some way. I can see, of course, why you can't eat it. Which leaves you with an odd practical problem. You're going to need some kind of ceremony for it, or pass it down generations. The ceremony doesn't have to be soon, obviously, thanks to science. Someone here might be able to help invent such an appropriate ceremony, I say in all seriousness.
There are a few bags of my dad's handmade, delicious chili sauce in our freezer. I know that when they are gone, the label on the bag, in his writing with the date and all, will be gone. (I see them when I clean the freezer ~ which is apparently more often than some people 'round here.) I most likely will not be able to eat the last one either. Smaller than an eggplant dish, but still a practical problem.
Perhaps we can establish a community freezer somewhere.
Maybe at some place special. Like Yellowstone Park maybe. Near Old Faithful, if it's not too crowded; just lift the lid and sort through the foil and plastic packages. Or we could feed it to the bears, by the sign, that says, "Don't feed the bears. Unless your Mom or Dad gave you the food. Before."
A freezer full of memories. |
