What am I if not obliging?
As requested, I present:
The Contents of the Underused Big White Box That Unreasonably Jacks Up Our PG&E Bill
1) Three three-packs of Kirkland smoked ham steaks. Low fat, salty and full of yum. They occupy the entire middle floor in The Bugs Food Pyramid.
2) Five faux-Gladware containers of inconsistent size and manufacture containing a compote of wild plums from the trees in our back yard. Tart but sweetened liberally with sugar and honey, they make an excellent topping for butter pecan ice cream; however, we no longer eat ice cream due to the occasional lactose intolerance thing, and thus the plum sauce languishes in be-frosted loneliness in The Big White Box.
3) Two ten-pound bags of ice, half-thawed and then re-frozen into large contorted blocks after our last summer party. Their value now is as ephemeral sculpture; they will never again be expected to grace a beverage.
4) An assortment of prepared foods from Trader Joe's frozen aisle: spanikopita (bitter aftertaste; I advise against these), pear & gorgonzola pizza (quite edible), chicken gyoza (pretty good) and soy corn dogs (taste disturbingly like the real thing; J. thinks of the four-pack as a single serving and wolfs them down with voracious verve and a dash of yellow mustard, as though he were fourteen and the dogs from Der Wienerschnitzel. Not your typical healthful-but-agonizingly-bland soy product.).
5) Two blue gel ice packs, a bit tacky to the touch due to their intimate proximity to the remnants of a burst plum sauce container.
6) One large Niman Ranch tri-tip. An iron-filled, beautifully textured ode to the grass-fed cow.
7) Seven opaque 32-ounce Trader Joe's French Village yogurt containers, cryptically marked in Sharpie with notations such as "Sun G past OK" and "CEY soup !," which roughly translate from the original Tomatospeak as "Sun Gold pasta sauce, pretty decent" and "Soup of Czech's Excellent Yellows, yummyyummyohsogood!," respectively. Give me lycopene or give me death. If you do not speak the sacred language of the tomato, this still may not mean much to you, and I apologize. They are my personal religion and I tend to evangelize, but I will try to stop short of calling for converts.
Well, that's my report from The Freezer. Tomorrow, perhaps a scintillating catalog of The Shelf Above Our Washing Machine. Sounds gripping, yes?