15.01.10 This post has been edited to reflect my (late) New Year's resolution. This year I refuse to spend time with, or pretend to be nice to, people I blatantly cannot stand. So, I've taken a few words from this post, mainly the sugar coating I gave to original story so as not to upset my departing housemate. So perhaps her friends might consider ceasing with the profanity filled comments that I will not publish. This is what I really think.
My housemate moved out today. Well, one of them, there are three of us. Some of you may be familiar with the girls that live at my house (and will remain unnamed) from my tweets. Or previous blog posts.
Lets cut a long story short here. They can't cook. Not such a big deal, I hear you say. Well, we don't have to share food. But we share the fridge. Please note photograph above. All of these items (you may recognise one of them as old pizza) were in the fridge weeks. They were in the fridge for so long, that after this picture was taken they grew mold.
Oh yes. I put them back in the fridge after taking this photograph - even though I wanted my Tupperware back. Because I flatly refuse to be responsible for dealing with other peoples leftovers.
It's a conundrum, as I also don't tolerate mold in my fridge (understandable I'd think). We walk a fine line in this house.
That's the thing about shared houses. Pans aren't cleaned properly. Food is left to rot in the bottom of the fridge, carrots and tomatoes growing mold and roll about like long lost lovers, getting closer and closer until they become one. Enormous containers with one mouthful of food inside are left in the fridge for weeks. Maybe months.
It amazes me (as I think everyone is as obsessed with food as I) the little people my age (20s, nearly 30s, but we won't talk about that) know about cooking.
I once lived with this guy in South Melbourne who ate fish finger sandwiches with tomato sauce twice a week. On the other nights he ate pizza or cocktail frankfurts mixed in with two minute noodles. He was disgustingly fat and frequently brought home the skankiest girls you could imagine (the words heroin addict spring to mind) because this was all he could get. In reflection, if someone told me that he had hidden cameras in the bathroom I wouldn't be surprised. But I would be horrified and calling the police.
And for a while I lived with a guy in Brunswick who was a diabetic. I'd think that someone with diabetes would make an effort to look after their health, but I never saw him eat anything that wasn't 80 per cent white flour and or fried. And his bedroom stank, I could smell it from the back yard. No surprises, I moved out pretty fast.
But bad sharehouse food manners are in no way limited to boys. Or men, as the two previous cases claimed to be. Certain female housemates will happily let one ingredient rot, while buying a new one and sitting it alongside in fridge, and also may be under the delusion that leek cooked in white sauce on toast is a nutritious meal.
Certain housemates also need to know that when cooking a stir-fry that cashew nuts do not go in first, potatoes cooked at rapid boil for 30 minutes are not a good idea and that bacon takes longer to cook than an egg.
Other gripes: milk does not keep well when left on bench, tea bags do not belong in sink, rubbish bins should be emptied when full, recycling does not magically disappear and someone does in fact put it out on the street on the required day (Wednesday, if you are reading this housemates).