Yes, I know that is not the familiar expression. With all due respect to “good things”, I think I can show you a reason to add an altered version into the lexicon. I am sure, after reading this post, you will agree that annoying things come in small packages.
First, let me compliment small things. I know small things. I’m a friend of small things. Small things are good.
Packaging of small things, not so much. To wit:
I’m gonna cream the person who wrote this
I like creamed spinach. Don’t ask me why, I just do. Ever since I was a wee lad. Of course, I also liked creamed corn back then, but I’ve grown out of it.
Over the years, I’ve come to enjoy Bird’s Eye creamed spinach. For half of my life, that meant boiling the plastic bag and pouring it into a bowl.
Then, lo came science! Microwaves changed the face of cooking forever.
So, I can now microwave my creamed spinach in a fraction of the time, with less mess.
The instructions on the package read: lift corner of film to vent (no prob). After 4 minutes, remove film, stir, replace film and cook 2 more minutes.
I can surely life the film off. But I challenge anyone to put it back on. It just sags into the spinach. Because, (duh!) it’s not clinging to the package anymore. DUH!!!
Who writes this stuff?
So, yeah, I just stir it after it’s all done and it’s fine. Stupid instructions.
A different type of pea problem
Sure, that’s going to be a dated reference someday, but, c’mon, who’ll be reading this blog in 10 years?
So, I love split pea soup. Adore it. It’s the soup of choice in a restaurant. If they don’t have it, I choose salad.
To this day, I enjoy the classic Campbell’s Split Pea (with Ham and Bacon!). It’s awesome, especially using Mom’s trick of adding milk instead of water. Super thick!
The contents are close to an igneous mass. Imagine quicksand in a can, but less damp and partially magnetized to the can. Yes, science will tell you soup cannot be magnetized, but those scientists obviously only eat cream of mushroom.
So, I have to dig through the mass with a spoon. Because the Campbell’s can has that dainty lip around the top. So I can’t just slip a flat knife around the edge like I do with cranberry sauce.
It’s quite an ordeal and there is always some soup still refuting the laws of nature by clinging to the can afterwards. But, boy, is that soup mmm, mmm good!
Zip it, willya
Ah, my beloved 7 cheese macaroni and cheese. And, of course, my eggplant or chicken parmagiana. Each of these uses a variety of cheeses. Fortunately, shredded cheese packages are quick and easy to open.
They now come in ziplock seal bags. As do many other products. And nearly all of those have a little perforation or notch at the top that says “tear here”.
DON’T DO IT!
Well, not if you want to reseal the package, anyway. Get a pair of scissors and trim across the line.
Because, if you don’t, you’ll most often find that the bag will rip right across the ziplock. Once that happens, “sealing” it is pointless, because the bag is open below the ziplock.
Seriously, who tests these things?
Is lowering my cholesterol supposed to raise my blood pressure?
I don’t take medicine. Not real stuff, at least.
Sure, I’ve got a bottle of Tylenol in the medicine cabinet, but, really, the only thing close to medicine that I take is fish oil.
Who knows if this is helping me or not. My last tests showed my cholesterol rising again. Meh.
And, if I can’t determine if this is helping me with that, I can surely say it might send me to my Tylenol bottle after I smack my forehead over the dumb packaging.
The bottle top is impenetrably sealed in plastic. Ripping that open and popping the top, I find…a paper seal below the cap. Wait, what?
If it’s sealed in plastic, why do you need the paper seal? If it’s got a paper seal, why do you need the plastic?
I’ve come across other packages like this. Does that make them double safe? Nah, just double annoying.
I’m really sour on this packaging
On the other hand, you’ve got this brain-melting packaging decision.
I like squeezing fresh lemons for cooking, but I find keeping them fresh for random accenting of food to be trying. So I buy a little lemon squeeze bottle and keep it in the fridge.
The lemon bottles have no seals. No plastic, no paper. They don’t even have an opening. It’s perfect. You could launch it into space.
What you can’t do is get any lemon juice out of it unless you puncture the top. Gee, Ma, I didn’t know I would need to be a surgeon just so I could squirt some lemon juice on my tuna.
Here’s the thing. Poke too big a hole and you get a stream of lemon juice. Poke it crooked and you get a nice spray of lemon juice (some of which actually goes where you want).
Now, here’s a package that begs for a seal, so that it can be manufactured with the hole already punched.
Yeah. Small packages. I haven’t even gone into sitting across from Dad while he fights with a package of saltines for his matzo ball soup (the struggle is real!). Or so many more aggravating small packages (can you say “blister packs”?).
The fact is, from instruction to construction, annoying things come in small packages.