NO BUNS INTENDED

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 297

Some foods are just meant to be eaten with your fingers. Can I get a big ol’ gospel Amen? Tonight, the main star of our supper was designed by our ancestors to be strictly hand-held—neither forked nor knifed. But…

Confirmation ended, I locked up the office, and headed home knowing dinner would be nearing the finish line. Sure enough, I rounded the corner and saw my sweetie outside with tongs in hand, smoke billowing from the Pit Boss. With the windows down, the glorious scent of charred animal flesh floated right into my nostrils. Bring on the grub, I thought, as my stomach started to audibly protest.

Since we hadn't thawed a single thing in the fridge, and my Wednesdays are notoriously long, the wifey suggested a Bavarian feast: bratwurst and German potato salad. Sounded like a winner. I walked in, washed my paws, and did what little I could to help her along.

Now, for a little backstory. We still had a few leftover buns nabbed from the bakery a few days ago. Not being the immortal “Wonder Bread” kind of rolls—concocted by some chemist using who-knows-what—I genuinely wondered if they were still good. My wife thought they'd hold up, so we rolled with it. (No “bun” intended), hahaha!

Whelp. Just as she walked through the door, I opened the bag. Right as I started to separate the buns, some prehistoric-looking, six-legged freeloader was casually crawling about.

EEEK! I swear I squealed like a little girl. My wife asked what on earth was wrong, and I pointed out the beast skulking atop our dinner. Not sure if it had been in there all along (somehow surviving the bakery oven) or if it had infiltrated the bag on our watch. Needless to say, that specific bun was immediately folded, smashed into oblivion, and chucked in the trash. Yuck.

What to do? Do we gamble that the rest were fine and chance it, or do we nuke the whole bunch? We opted for the latter. Didn’t really want to play Russian Roulette with bakery bugs, ya know?

Anywho… what should’ve been finger food (minus the tater salad, obviously) quickly became fork-and-knife food. And for that, I’m incredibly thankful some genius ancestor invented the fork to stab meat and the serrated knife to slice it up. I know it sounds ridiculous, but using my bare fingers to hold a smoking hot, undeniably greasy brat was just not in the cards tonight.

So, there ya go. Tonight, I’m grateful God in His grace gave us utensils so we can eat without burning our fingers to a crisp—especially when the bug claimed the buns before we do.

What are you thankful for tonight?