Canned Tuna Hunting

National Lockdown: Day Seven

For the first time in over two weeks I went out into the world to buy food. I’d been putting it off for a few days and living off rice cakes, which I’ve nicknamed “nice cakes” in order to Emperor’s New Clothes my taste buds. Fun Fact, they still taste crap but they’re a suitable vessel for almond butter and one step up from a teaspoon or finger. Actually screw that, give me the jar and my finger any day..

‘Introducing new Almond Butter licked off a Finger- it’s the Covid-19 version of Fugu… it’s the “near death experience” that makes it so tasty.’

Shopping during an apocalypse is a completely different experience to pre-apocalypse (PA) shopping, because there’s a general tendency to favour the canned food section. But you know me, I like to live dangerously so I went ape shit for the lettuce. I went fucking bananas because I feel like I’m getting scurvy and even though lettuce is basically crunchy water I just couldn’t help myself. Italian mix, Romaine, baby gem, you name it I bought it. And, this is Woolworths lettuce, so it’ll survive longer than most of the cans you’ve got stashed in your walk-in pantries. Grapes? 2 for R60 “Yes Please!” Broccoli? “Come at me!” Butternut, onions, potatoes? No chance, this is the apocalypse and the whole butternut is the new avocado.

So, I meandered from the bountiful Woolies salad bar, past the barren wastelands of hardy “cupboard” veg, and reached the aisle where the long-life milk used to be. Unfortunately, suburbanites seemed to have got my memo about “nice cakes” because there were only two really fucked up packs of those, which I reluctantly drop-kicked into my trolley because I felt sorry for them. Plenty bread though; as my dad would say, “Plentch!” People obviously aren’t aware that you can freeze bread, or that we haven’t actually gone back in time to the “old days” where you had two days to eat your weekly loaf. Maybe okes around here are still banting? Who knows?

Toilet paper for days. Literally days of toilet paper. I hate all of you bastards for making me spend the last two weeks with 1Ply. It was kak. I do not recommend. 0 Star Rating.

It’s absolutely no surprise that there had been a “clean up in aisle four” and the shelves were completely devoid of canned food. A lot of kids are going to be really chuffed with another night of “tuna surprise” I’ll tell you that for free. “What’s the surprise mum?” “The surprise is it’s crap!” No jokes though, “the great can shortage of 2020” did upset me because I really fancied making that Sweetcorn Bake I read about in the Your Family magazine of May 1994. Never mind, when the apocalypse is over canned foods will no longer be a luxury item and I’ll be able to treat all of my friends to a nice plate of hot slop.

Fresh milk- 2 litres, and again it’s Woolworths milk so it’s as long-life as it gets. I should be concerned about how long Woolies food lasts but I’m not. I survived the 80s as a Tartrazine kid I’m basically bullet-proof. And, as it turns out cheese is no longer a hot item in the suburbs either… Seriously what the fuck are you people eating? You do know that cheese is basically frot milk right? It doesn’t go off… you just scrape off the manky bits and you’re good to go for at least another week. People are giving up on cheeses… bunch of heathens and sinners. Repent! So, after twenty minutes of not very careful shopping I was ready to join the social distancing queue and avoid those horrible healthy snacks in the gauntlet of financial ruin. FYI on the Woolies Snack Pack of Mixed Nuts Index, the economy is thriving.    

There’s an unwritten rule at supermarkets where you’re allowed to check out other people’s baskets and trolleys and pass judgement. It’s kind of like Vampire Rules, but you have to be a little bit discreet, you can’t point or be too obvious about your snooping. Yesterday I got some serious judgement and I could tell that people thought that I’m definitely not taking lockdown seriously at all. Not only was I wearing my “Not Today Satan” t-shirt, not only did I have way too much fucking lettuce (I think I may have buyers remorse), not only did I have the makings of one helluva cheeseboard (“What the fuck is this asshole celebrating doesn’t she know we’re in the midst of a pandemic?”), not only did I have zero canned or frozen items (not my fault), but I also wasn’t wearing a face mask (make up doesn’t count).

It’s weird that even though the shops are still open for business, and we’re told not to stockpile, there’s this mentality that we need to embrace the “Apocalypse Menu”. It’s wartime, and we have to go back to austerity cooking in order to show that we’re doing our bit for the war effort. And while I was musing about apocalypse cookbooks, as luck would have it, my friend “Jeff Goldblum” sent me an absolute clanger of a message.

‘So for some strange reason my diet is reverting to the mid 90s. Is it OK to crave Ultramel custard? It’s like Mandela is about to be released and we’ll never eat again. Buy Ultramel and toilet paper.’

‘And let’s not mention brown onion soup in a sachet…’

And then it happened… He sent two photos of “that chicken dish” and the potato bake made with the help of our friend Royco.

And as I looked at Jeff’s throwback to the bad old days it reaffirmed my belief that food is political. The Apocalypse Pantry has become a window into how we feared hunger and rationing in the past. And all of those fears come with a wave of nostalgia for the foods that we associate with “national lockdown”. Our long-lost friends Knorr, Royco, and Maggie are invited back to our dinner tables, we slip back into familiar conversations with them, and it’s like we’ve never been apart.

“Can someone please pass the Aromat.”