We’ve all read those food-centric horror
stories. You know, the guy who finds a human finger in his Happy Meal or the
lady who noshes a cockroach while munching a pepperoni and anchovy pizza. They’re
everywhere. Some are probably true, some undoubtedly fabricated “click bait.”
But after six decades of eating daily, I
had never been a player in one of those stories; not until last night. (Cue creepy music and windy sound effects.)
I’ve been eating a lot of soup lately.
Winter’s coming and I know I’m going to pack on ten pounds before March, so I’m
trying to lose ten pounds now in the
hopes of coming out even in the spring. Also, this time of year just feels like “soup season” to me.
In the past month, I’ve downed 20
gallons of Cream of Mushroom, Cheesy Tortilla, Chicken Noodle and most
especially, Clam Chowder. I’m a junky for clam chowder; not sure why. Clams
are, frankly, just plain icky to my way of thinking. Live ones, anyway. But I’ve
eaten more than my share of ‘em over the years in soups, deep fried, sautéed,
you name it.
Until yesterday, I’ve stuck with the
major, red-and-white label brands. The brands you see in advertisements
featuring middle class soccer moms and finicky six-year-olds who realize after
one bite they’d rather eat tomato soup than chocolate ice cream.
After all these weeks of budget soup-snarfling,
I decided to treat myself. There on the shelf of my local grocery sat a
somewhat plain-looking, smaller-than-the-rest can of “gourmet” clam chowder. I
knew it was gourmet because of the price tag; at least three times the cost of
the other brands for about half the product.
Also, according to the label, it was
made in “small batches” in Bar Harbor, Maine. They know clams in Maine. Maine
is galactic central point of the clam world. I couldn’t wait to try it.
That evening, I opened the can – no pop-top;
I had to use an opener; this was the real deal, baby – and poured the soup into
my favorite pan. It looked great! Far
more “stuff” in it than in any of the big-name brands I’d previously purchased.
I was soon salivating like Pavlov’s hungriest dog.
Then I noticed something kept
floating to the top. Something black, about two-inches long. Something that
looked the exact opposite of appetizing. Using a spoon, I fished it out.
A … worm!
A disgusting, revolting, putrid, wriggly, vomitus worm! My appetite left me faster than any of my ex-wives. Five
minutes later I was penning the following letter to the manufacturer:
Dear
(Name withheld so I don’t get sued),
I’ve
been a clam chowder fan since I was old enough to walk, but odds are I’ll never
be able to eat it again, not after what I found in a can of your product! I’m not generally one to complain,
and I’m not particularly squeamish, but hey folks, I won’t eat worms!
I’m
enclosing a couple photos of both the can and its occupant. I know no system of
food production is perfect, but when you’re charging premium prices for a
product (which, admittedly, looked quite tasty were it not for the additional
non-vertebrate protein) I think a customer should be able to expect worm-free
goodness in every bite. I suppose I should be happy I found the whole worm,
rather than only half.
I
was really looking forward to a nice bowl of chowder tonight, too. Bought
the oyster crackers and everything. This isn’t a lawsuit threat or anything
stupid like that, by the way; I just wanted you to be aware of the worm issue.
Thank you for your time.
Mike
Taylor
Kathleen, the nice lady from the clam
chowder factory, emailed me this morning. Turns out the “worm” was actually
something called a “clam string” and it’s a normal, non-life-threatening part
of an oyster’s digestive tract.
Kathleen also sent a couple coupons,
which was nice of her, considering my unfounded worm allegations. I’m sure I’ll
use them … in time. But, worm or “clam string,” it’s gonna be a while before I
can look at another can of clam chowder without thinking of that (alleged) invertebrate
hitch-hiker.
(616) 745-9530
No comments:
Post a Comment