A letter from Sarah Seaweed…

Dear DLMFO,

As your blog is about sad meals for sad and lonely people, I thought I’d share my sad, and potentially fatal, food story involving hijiki seaweed.

I went through a stage of really enjoying eating the dried seaweed that I’d cook up with coconut milk and spring onions. I’d go through kilos of the stuff. At the same time I started working in a hospital. I soon was suffering bouts of severe gastro, with sweating, dizziness, nausea. I just thought I was picking up every bug in the hospital and soon my immune system would be bolstered. 

Feeling somewhat smug about my new seaweed superfood, I decided to Google what awesome nutrition it contained.

I found out that the seaweed has extremely high levels of inorganic arsenic and should not be eaten in large quantities. Small sprinkles on rice is safe. I was eating roughly 2 cups in one sitting. My ‘immune-system toughening-up to hospital standards’symptoms were actually acute arsenic poisoning symptoms. 

There I was, living alone, and every night sadly eating my arsenic seaweed death meal for one.

Let this be a lesson to others with dimly lit meals for one. Stick to toast, beans, cheese, tinned pies and frozen dinners.

Sarah

Some sage advice from Sarah for anyone who’s just mildly depressed and doesn’t feel like eating themselves into oblivion, avoid the seaweed…

"Last Saturday night, which I spent alone, I ate mince, cheese, and ketchup on toast because I lost the will to prepare real food.
My thinking was that it it would be like the cross section of a burger, delicious slices of the fast food staple yet thin enough to slide under a door. 
I spent the evening looking at the Facebook profile of the guy who bullied me at school, harvesting his ludicrously open profile for information I could use to wreak a revenge sixteen years in the making.
The real reason I like flat food?
Back when I was at school I didn’t leave my room for three whole weeks because I was terrified of the same no-neck goon who I devoted my last Saturday night to stalking online.
Much of what I ate during that time was food that my mother could slide under the reasonably generous gap under my door. Pop tarts, ritz crackers, wafer thin slices of ham. 
At the end of my self-imposed imprisonment I was even more doughy than before and, unfortunately, an even bigger target for the Hyenas stalking the corridors of the concrete prison that was my school.
I’ve been eating a lot of flat food lately as I sit at my laptop dreaming of some sort of justice.
Memories long buried are dragged up with every bite of toaster pastry or After Eight mint.”I receive a lot of strange messages.
Some seem to be fantasies inspired by real life, others pure works of imagination written for pleasure while a few, I worry, may be all too true.
I know next to nothing about our flat food eater.
I hope whoever they are that they’re okay.
I hope they can take solace in their pop tarts and don’t dwell too much on the past.
I hope the flat burgers weren’t as awful as they look, that next time you feel inspired to go the extra mile and splash out on a patty and a bun.
I sincerely hope you don’t extract some elaborate Saw style revenge on your former schoolmates from in front of your laptop while munching on crackers and cackling maniacally…

"Last Saturday night, which I spent alone, I ate mince, cheese, and ketchup on toast because I lost the will to prepare real food.

My thinking was that it it would be like the cross section of a burger, delicious slices of the fast food staple yet thin enough to slide under a door. 

I spent the evening looking at the Facebook profile of the guy who bullied me at school, harvesting his ludicrously open profile for information I could use to wreak a revenge sixteen years in the making.

The real reason I like flat food?

Back when I was at school I didn’t leave my room for three whole weeks because I was terrified of the same no-neck goon who I devoted my last Saturday night to stalking online.

Much of what I ate during that time was food that my mother could slide under the reasonably generous gap under my door. 

Pop tarts, ritz crackers, wafer thin slices of ham. 

At the end of my self-imposed imprisonment I was even more doughy than before and, unfortunately, an even bigger target for the Hyenas stalking the corridors of the concrete prison that was my school.

I’ve been eating a lot of flat food lately as I sit at my laptop dreaming of some sort of justice.

Memories long buried are dragged up with every bite of toaster pastry or After Eight mint.”

I receive a lot of strange messages.

Some seem to be fantasies inspired by real life, others pure works of imagination written for pleasure while a few, I worry, may be all too true.

I know next to nothing about our flat food eater.

I hope whoever they are that they’re okay.

I hope they can take solace in their pop tarts and don’t dwell too much on the past.

I hope the flat burgers weren’t as awful as they look, that next time you feel inspired to go the extra mile and splash out on a patty and a bun.

I sincerely hope you don’t extract some elaborate Saw style revenge on your former schoolmates from in front of your laptop while munching on crackers and cackling maniacally…

"The lettuce was so damn old I almost didn’t eat it.
Almost.
I felt I needed something green in there, something to make my perfectly square lunch meat look less shockingly pink against the sliced white.
Old lettuce. It sits at the back of the fridge turning brown and daring me to eat it. 
Well, today I did. I had to smother it in mustard and it was still awful.
I don’t think it did me any good at all.”

I’ve never seen mustard wielded in self defence before, and rightly so. 
What is the point of lettuce?
It seems to exist solely to delude us into thinking our sandwiches are healthy, to hide in our refrigerators turning brown, and to make us feel guilty about the massive giant mountain of food waste our unsustainable western lifestyles contribute to.
Lettuce, you’re bringing us all down.

"The lettuce was so damn old I almost didn’t eat it.

Almost.

I felt I needed something green in there, something to make my perfectly square lunch meat look less shockingly pink against the sliced white.

Old lettuce. It sits at the back of the fridge turning brown and daring me to eat it. 

Well, today I did. I had to smother it in mustard and it was still awful.

I don’t think it did me any good at all.”

I’ve never seen mustard wielded in self defence before, and rightly so. 

What is the point of lettuce?

It seems to exist solely to delude us into thinking our sandwiches are healthy, to hide in our refrigerators turning brown, and to make us feel guilty about the massive giant mountain of food waste our unsustainable western lifestyles contribute to.

Lettuce, you’re bringing us all down.

"Here I tried to make purple mashed potatoes with garlic and pepper and I ended up with wallpaper paste looking mush that tasted like an unclean refrigerator. This is my biggest shame this year."

We’ve all tasted the inside of a fridge before haven’t we?

When desperation strikes and there’s nothing left to eat save for a suspicious looking carrot right at the very back of the big white box.

A carrot that’s absorbed all the evil fumes, spilt milk, and spoiled ham juice and will never taste quite right no matter how long it’s washed for.

"Here I tried to make purple mashed potatoes with garlic and pepper and I ended up with wallpaper paste looking mush that tasted like an unclean refrigerator. This is my biggest shame this year."

We’ve all tasted the inside of a fridge before haven’t we?

When desperation strikes and there’s nothing left to eat save for a suspicious looking carrot right at the very back of the big white box.

A carrot that’s absorbed all the evil fumes, spilt milk, and spoiled ham juice and will never taste quite right no matter how long it’s washed for.

Rick Evans from Barrow-in-Furness sends in a picture taken by his good friend Ian.
Ian had popped over to Rick’s house to borrow a hand just as Rick was about to have his dinner.
Rick lives alone and doesn’t like to cook much. 
He’s partial to a Fray Bentos chicken pie, although he always takes care to wear an oven glove when removing the piping hot dish from the oven as he has been known to burn himself on occasion!
Sometimes Rick wonders if he holds on just that little bit too long to feel something.
Often Rick lies awake in bed, tinned pie sitting uncomfortably in his bloated belly, contemplating the circumstances which lead him to the emotional cul-de-sac in which he now resides.
Ian’s picture was a spontaneous act, a shared joke taken on Rick’s camera phone, but Rick wishes he had asked Ian to stay and share his pie.
There’s always too much pie and plenty of ale and, as Rick stands on the precipice of forty, he can feel his body become as soft as the succulent chicken in a Fray Bentos pie.
Maybe next time Rick will have the courage to ask Ian to stay and share a plate of nourishing, long shelf life, gravy rich pie. 
Who knows, maybe Ian will say yes.


If anyone from Fray Bentos would like to use this in an advertising campaign I am very cheap to hire. You can email me at dimlylitmealsforone@gmail.com if you would like to discuss this, or if you have been affected by any of the issues in today’s post.

Rick Evans from Barrow-in-Furness sends in a picture taken by his good friend Ian.

Ian had popped over to Rick’s house to borrow a hand just as Rick was about to have his dinner.

Rick lives alone and doesn’t like to cook much. 

He’s partial to a Fray Bentos chicken pie, although he always takes care to wear an oven glove when removing the piping hot dish from the oven as he has been known to burn himself on occasion!

Sometimes Rick wonders if he holds on just that little bit too long to feel something.

Often Rick lies awake in bed, tinned pie sitting uncomfortably in his bloated belly, contemplating the circumstances which lead him to the emotional cul-de-sac in which he now resides.

Ian’s picture was a spontaneous act, a shared joke taken on Rick’s camera phone, but Rick wishes he had asked Ian to stay and share his pie.

There’s always too much pie and plenty of ale and, as Rick stands on the precipice of forty, he can feel his body become as soft as the succulent chicken in a Fray Bentos pie.

Maybe next time Rick will have the courage to ask Ian to stay and share a plate of nourishing, long shelf life, gravy rich pie. 

Who knows, maybe Ian will say yes.

If anyone from Fray Bentos would like to use this in an advertising campaign I am very cheap to hire. You can email me at dimlylitmealsforone@gmail.com if you would like to discuss this, or if you have been affected by any of the issues in today’s post.

The lazy dimly lit meals clip show…

Since tumblr decided to make me a trending blog last week I’ve had a few extra followers.

Assuming that 99.5% of you chaps are porn bots (or Superwholocks) that still leaves at least two followers who exist as hard copies.

Now, an interesting fact, not many people know that this tumblr is actually over fifteen years old. 

It started life as a black and white photocopied fanzine given away free outside local restaurants and soon migrated to Geocities, before becoming the tumblr you know and love today.

Over the years many different people have played the role of ‘nameless sad narrator’ including beloved television star Bronson Pinchot and, at various times, the entire line-up of rap rockers Dog Eat Dog.

With that in mind I thought you might enjoy a few personal highlights of the tumblr that you may missed having got tired of the infinity scroll and highly somewhat repetitive nature of the material on offer here.

1. My magnum egpus.

2. Nuttelex, whatever that is.

3. Ham Sweat

4. A drug addict named Luke

5. Scat cakes

6. Shockingly obvious penis jokes

7.  How to take a GREAT food photograph!

8. Why I can’t eat Blueberry Yoghurt

9. A lonely man tries and fails to make Nasi Goreng

10. I could have started a whole tumblr of plates balanced on patterned tights…but that would have been too niche.

11. George A.  Hamburgomeo

12.  A short film about chicken

13.  The third ever post, before I got the hang of tagging.

Pizza is supposed to be reliable.
Pizza isn’t meant to erupt, landsliding hot dairy like it’s suffering from Ebola.
Pizza shouldn’t do you like this.
This was meant to be one large homemade pizza, enjoyed with one more bottle of wine than you’d admit to yourself and anyone else that you drank.
Instead, like Heller’s difficult second novel, something happened.
Now pizza remains litter two plain white plates, the barely recognisable scrapings reminiscent of a climactic scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Pizza is supposed to be reliable.

Pizza isn’t meant to erupt, landsliding hot dairy like it’s suffering from Ebola.

Pizza shouldn’t do you like this.

This was meant to be one large homemade pizza, enjoyed with one more bottle of wine than you’d admit to yourself and anyone else that you drank.

Instead, like Heller’s difficult second novel, something happened.

Now pizza remains litter two plain white plates, the barely recognisable scrapings reminiscent of a climactic scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

I firmly believe that some things just don’t belong in spray cans. 
Pizza cologne, cannabis scented air freshener, and berry flavoured diabetes. All available in aerosol form and all as repellent as an estate agent heavily doused in Lynx (that’s the British equivalent of Axe, my dear American friends).
The wicked king of awful atomizers, however, is the processed dairy effluent known as Easy Cheese.
Cheese in a can was trialed in the UK but like the music of Dave Matthews and workplace shootings for some reason it never caught on over here.Hard to see why, I mean look how appealing it is there pilled on top of a microwaved sad fish pie, all tangled up like so many neon orange tapeworms.

I firmly believe that some things just don’t belong in spray cans. 

Pizza cologne, cannabis scented air freshener, and berry flavoured diabetes

All available in aerosol form and all as repellent as an estate agent heavily doused in Lynx (that’s the British equivalent of Axe, my dear American friends).

The wicked king of awful atomizers, however, is the processed dairy effluent known as Easy Cheese.

Cheese in a can was trialed in the UK but like the music of Dave Matthews and workplace shootings for some reason it never caught on over here.

Hard to see why, I mean look how appealing it is there pilled on top of a microwaved sad fish pie, all tangled up like so many neon orange tapeworms.

Ham chunks, gluten free crackers, and cheese debris.
Eaten alone from suspicious looking ziplocks.
Why is everything bagged up like that?
A coeliac drug dealer perhaps, or a young Howard Hughes terrified of getting germs near his meaty cubes.
The strange thing about this submission was that the person who sent it in was adamant that they retain their anonymity, so I’m half expecting that the pink stuff in the bag turns out to be a missing schoolboy.  

Ham chunks, gluten free crackers, and cheese debris.

Eaten alone from suspicious looking ziplocks.

Why is everything bagged up like that?

A coeliac drug dealer perhaps, or a young Howard Hughes terrified of getting germs near his meaty cubes.

The strange thing about this submission was that the person who sent it in was adamant that they retain their anonymity, so I’m half expecting that the pink stuff in the bag turns out to be a missing schoolboy.  

I can understand why some people feel that filters improve their horrible photographs but, come on, you’re ending up something that looks a quasi pornographic Polaroid from the seventies you might discover being used as a bookmark in a copy of Tropic of Cancer belonging to a dead relative.I am sure your meal was delicious, that it comforted you and reminded you of those weekend visits to dad before he remarried and moved down south. I’ll bet it was even better enjoyed from a paper plate, safe in the knowledge there would be no washing up required, that you could set it all on fire if you wished and watch it burn.
But there was no need for that filter.
 None.

I can understand why some people feel that filters improve their horrible photographs but, come on, you’re ending up something that looks a quasi pornographic Polaroid from the seventies you might discover being used as a bookmark in a copy of Tropic of Cancer belonging to a dead relative.

I am sure your meal was delicious, that it comforted you and reminded you of those weekend visits to dad before he remarried and moved down south.

I’ll bet it was even better enjoyed from a paper plate, safe in the knowledge there would be no washing up required, that you could set it all on fire if you wished and watch it burn.

But there was no need for that filter.

 None.

chupitos-pa-bailar
tragame—tierra:

If I eat fruits, will it cancel out the cup noodles and the pudding? Lmfao. College meals

I see you’re only eating things which come in their own plastic containers.
Is that because you’re a Howard Hughes figure terrified of contamination or because you’re one of those people who hates nature and longs to see hedgehogs trapped in yoghurt pots?

tragame—tierra:

If I eat fruits, will it cancel out the cup noodles and the pudding? Lmfao. College meals

I see you’re only eating things which come in their own plastic containers.


Is that because you’re a Howard Hughes figure terrified of contamination or because you’re one of those people who hates nature and longs to see hedgehogs trapped in yoghurt pots?