The “slow food” movement emphasizes careful preparation and choice of ingredients as a response to modern society’s self-destructive tendency towards instant gastronomical gratification. It’s a noble sentiment, to be sure, but there are many times when all one wants to do after a long day at work is to kick back on the couch, watch syndicated repeats of Gilmore Girls, and nosh on some nuke-and-forget delicacies while contemplating Rory’s astonishing resemblance to a Blythe doll.

(Creepy, isn’t it?)
When such occasions arise — 2 to 3 times a week, on average — …

I spent a significant portion of my senior year of high school — a mythical time when Debbie Gibson electrified the nation’s youth and acid wash jeans were the height of fashion — tooling around Boston’s northwestern suburbs with my buddy Damian in his dinged-up subcompact beater. Most of these trips were videogame-related, made with the intent of seeking out and sampling the latest home console and coin-op offerings. One of our regular stops was a baseball and “non-sports” card shop in North Woburn that did a brisk side business …

As a child I was a paste eater.  As an adult I lived an entire year on nothing but caramel bullseyes and canned ice tea. I have consumed many things in my lifetime; some of which even bore a remote resemblance to actual food.
The purpose of this occasional feature (besides getting that Ken Lowery dude off my back) is to chronicle my ongoing experiences with the lower end of the gastronomic spectrum, and share the pain and pleasure (but mostly pain) with you, my humble readers.
I’m going to kick off my adventures in bottomfeeding with a …