Bachelor culinary Archeology, 101

At 10 pm, top ramen for the second time in one day did not sound appealing. I had too many tools and lumber out... scattered around... to close up shop. That would have been a head ache.

Using my Boy Scout survival skills I decide to cook up something here... at the shop.

The shop is all set up for what I call "urban indoor camping"... a phrase I coined to describe and make the situation I find myself in ...more tolerable.

I have it all.

A frig and pantry full of 'food', a microwave, a toaster oven, a crockpot... and a deluxe hot plate that Heidi gave me. These items are in my shop's inventory just like the tablesaw, lumber rack and camp cot.

I am able to heat stuff enough to get it smelling like food... even if it may not visually resemble it. Attempts at 'tasty' food is something I abandoned years ago. There are too many radiation treatments and chemotherapy sessions in my past.

I decide to explore the far reaches of my freezer.

This soon becomes more like an archeological expedition in Antartica. Mittens, a parka and spiked boots, and one of those pick ax walking sticks are needed to navigate in my freezer.

Some other time I'll detail and record for posterity... and science the things I found. Since hunger was what propelled me, as soon as I located a package of Armour Jumbo hot dogs I was ready to retrace my steps back out to a milder climate.

Once the frost was hacked off, the true worth of my find as historic evidence, came to light. The package the hot dogs were in, bore witness to their age.
This was something of an Indiana Jones type discovery... or at least was a form of "cold case" detective work. Literally.

In big letters, beneath a layer of frost on the promotional pack it said "Pick a Star!"

I placed my warm hand over the frost to thaw out the faces of 3 baseball players.

Ken Griffey Jr., Roger Clemens and Sammy Sosa. ... Geez, how old is this package?

I don't follow major league baseball anymore. I stopped paying attention the year of the player's strike. What? 1994? That was also the year the wife and kids packed up and left. Not a good year.

Do these three guys even play nowadays or have they retired? I mean... sure I know their names. They were major league superstars. And two of them have the stink of steroid scandal.

They aren't 'ancient' history.

But we are talking about a food product here... My potential dinner... I'm hungry... Age is a good thing for wine, I've heard. Cheese also.

But frozen hot dogs?

Scraping away more ice and frost I discover very useful information. Evidence, even... to help me do additional research. Near the "pick a star" is an 800 number to call. More thawing and I find that I can "listen to the players sing the Armour jingle." ...

"Hot dogs! Armour Hot dogs! What kind of kids eat Armour hot dogs? Fat kids, Skinny kids, kids who (???) a lot. Tough kids, (wimpy?) kids. Even kids with chicken pox, love hot dogs. Armour hot dogs! The dogs kids love to bite!"

It's scary, but I pulled that out of some old, dusty brain cells.

It says on the next line I can... "VOTE your favorite."
What... like which one sings the best?

Holy Crap! I can "WIN authentic autographed memorabilia!"

I grab my cellphone and call. Who cares that it's after 11 pm. The small print on the package has an address of ConAgra foods in Downers Grove, Illinois. Let's see... maybe two or three hours difference. One a.m. or 2:00 a.m. ...I'm sure someone is there to answer my call. I can have an aging ball player sing to me? ... or ...at least I can explain my predicament?

Gee, which star should I talk to? ... Sammy Sosa? ... No..., no one could even understand him in some of the old interviews I heard. ... "Base-a-ball, been Berry Good to me!" is not what I want to listen to this time of night. Bet he even sings with a bad accent...

Roger Clemens? No. If he were napping right now and my phone call woke him, ...he might go into a "roid rage' and my image of him would 'diminish'. I might start choking up... and say something like... "Roger! Say it ain't so!" ...Or, he might yell the Armour jingle into the phone and I'd be holding mine at arm's length, rubbing my sore ear. I might miss the chance to ask him about the gamble of eating freezer burned hot dogs. Or how to best fix them. I can't even picture Roger Clemens wearing an apron in a kitchen, anyway. Delicately turning over 'red hots' so they are "... just right".

Uh, I better go with Ken Griffey Jr. ... A reported nice guy in his day. I bet he can tell me if these hot dogs are safe despite their age ...AFTER he sings to me, of course. Maybe he can offer some serving suggestions, also.

My palms are sweaty as I dial. 1-800-555-6556...

..."We are sorry, but this program HAS ended and no further calls are being taken. Thank you for calling."

I'm crushed. I realize I'm on my own, going to have to take matters into my own hands. I cut open the pack and toss 2 dogs on a paper plate and shove it into the microwave. While waiting I read other info on the package.

Ingredients:

-Mechanically separated chicken. (What, they don't have cowboy-type guys... riding thru the chicken herd... "heading off " some of them toward a corral for branding? They use a robot?)

-Pork.
-Water.
-Corn syrup. (Really?)
-Salt.
-Potato starch.
-Contains 2%... or less of beef. (Gee, how much less? 1 percent?)
-Dextrose.
-Flavorings. (oh, that's good. Maybe I won't notice the freezer burn flavor.)

-Mechanically separated turkey. (Again, with the robot... Also, being this far down on the list, just how little turkey is in it?)
-Oleoresin of paprika. (What?)
-Sodium nitrite.
-Sodium phosphate. (That's good. I was feeling a bit low on these two.)
-Vitamin C - ascorbic acid. (Good ol' Uncle Sam and his USDA always watching out for my nutritional needs.)

[Ding!] Hmm... (one last bit of detective-like observation, sans the rubber gloves)... looks ok... smells ok...

I'll hide the dogs with mustard, relish and catsup. Tastes like most every other thing I eat. Let's see... Rolaids for later... I'm all set.

I wonder how Ken Griffey likes his hot dog. Guess I'll never get the chance to ask.