To Be Continued...

--John D.

Mystery Can Ten

I remember a simpler and happier time. A time when birds used to sing joyful songs. A time when children didn't live in constant fear. A time when canned food had labels.

That time doesn't exist anymore.

I also remember a time when I made wise decisions.

Choosing to eat leftovers from earlier this week was not a wise decision. Leftovers consisted of: a tuna sandwich, yams, and jalapeño helper.

I guess I still had some hope in the world. I figured, "I have consumed a lot of terrible things this week. It can't get any worse right?"

Right?

This little can looked so tame and friendly. Like a bengal tiger behind a cage. It can't hurt you as long as it is in it's cage.

That can looks like it wouldn't hurt a fly.

Needless to say, I had no fear until I opened the can and saw this…

[[ WARNING: These pictures are graphic, disturbing, and should be rated R. They make children cry more than those "sad helpless puppy" commercials. If you have a weak stomach, please refrain from reading any more, and please do not look at the pictures. ]]

[[ I'm serious. ]]

Fish.

To be more specific: Canned Fish

To be even more specific: Canned Chub Mackerel.

I think I went fishing for Chub with my uncle once. I remember fishing for them under a bridge. They were a fun fish to catch because you didn't have to wait very long until you caught one on your line.

This was not the same "fun" fish that I remember.

This was a very terrible fish.

Now I had to look at my leftover options. There wasn't much to work with. I didn't want to heat up the fish on the stove (my house mates were already complaining about the smell, and I just opened the can). So I did what any logical person would do.

I put the fish on my tuna sandwich.

Fish + Fish = Fish

Fish + Yams = Terrifying

Fish + Jalapeño Helper = Dangerous

I decided that "Fish + Fish = Fish" was my best equation.

Surprisingly, it was not as bad as the coconut milk.

Let me rephrase that last statement.

It was as bad as the coconut milk, but it did not attempt to trigger my gag-reflex.

For a closer look at the chub mackerel, scroll down a little bit.

My stomach was officially hating me. It knew something was horribly wrong, and it didn't know how to make things better. Much like a child who has soiled itself. All it can do is cry until someone can make things better.

So I tried to make things better.

If you want a baby to stop crying…

you feed it ice-cream!

Right?

Perhaps this stomach/infant analogy was not very accurate.

Eventually I ate a graham cracker, drank a big glass of milk, and brushed my teeth. Nothing seemed to work.

Salvation.

--John D.

Mystery Can Nine

Taco Night.

Here's the can.

Here's what was in it.

Beets.

Here's my burrito and my beets.

I ate them both.

I'm mentally checked out of this game.

--John D.

Mystery Can Eight

I really did not feel like doing this today. There were only three cans left. I'm not sure if this is cheating or not, but I shook all three of them. Two made a "swhooshing" sound. One didn't make a sound at all. I was somewhat afraid of the one that didn't make a sound.

I decided to pick the silent can that scared me.

Why? Well, I was already pessimistic about the can today, so I thought I would make tomorrow, and the next day, better. I might as well get the terrible can out of the way, right?

Dinner: Macaroni and Cheese.

I braced myself for this intimidating can. It really wasn't that intimidating. So I took a picture of it from a lower angle, just to make it look bigger.

I ran the can opener around the top of the can. Before removing the lid, I decided to smell it. I knew exactly what the can contained.

Sauerkraut.

I've had sauerkraut before. I wasn't worried. Well… I wasn't worried until I took it out of the can.

This sauerkraut was insane. It kept the form of the can. Even after I threw it into a pot and poked it a couple of times with my finger.

See?

I had to stab it repeatedly with a spoon. I guess spoons are sauerkraut's only weakness.

This was bad for everyone in the house. People started complaining almost as soon as I put the small pot of sauerkraut on the stove.

We had to open our kitchen door to get the smell out of our house.

Eventually the meal was finished. I put the sauerkraut and the Mac and Cheese in separate bowls to prevent cross-contamination.

Mom. If you are reading this, I want to thank you. Thank you for making sauerkraut for the family at different times when I was growing up. Thank you for making me eat this food. Thank you for building a sauerkraut-tolerance in me.

Needless to say, this wasn't as good as Mom's sauerkraut.

I was keeping my food separated, but the sauerkraut was getting the best of me. "This couldn't be any worse, could it?" I thought to myself. I was trying to justify my rationale for doing this:

I mixed the food.

I know what you're thinking. "Oh boy, does that ever sound delicious. Cheesy sauerkraut. That must be a match made in heaven." You probably are not thinking that. But, let me tell you.

This.

Was.

Amazing.

So amazing, in fact, that I decided to mix the two bowls into one.

I can't really explain it. I am no culinary expert, but I believe that the cheese flavor covered up the sauerkraut flavor. They complimented each other.

It was simply wonderful. I did not have any left-overs.

I feel happy.

--John D.

Mystery Can Seven

Pizza for lunch. That means reheated pizza for dinner. That also means pizza for breakfast tomorrow too, if I pace myself.

No elaborate introduction for the can today.

It looked like a can.

See?

Told you so.

I eventually opened the can. The contents of the can surprised me a little bit.

I didn't think they sold paint in food-sized cans. I'm not sure who "they" is, but I'm pretty sure "they" don't sell paint in small cans like that.

Although, I could very easily be wrong.

After a quick taste (and smell), I discovered that the paint was actually coconut milk. I wasn't very creative today, and I didn't want to spoil my pizza, so I decided to drink the milk right out of the can.

(Please excuse the "bathroom mirror" style pictures)

There were chunks of coconut milk in it.

I do not mean "coconut pulp." I mean: chunks of coagulated coconut milk. Drinking the thick (and somewhat chunky) milk was not pleasant.

Not-vomiting took effort.

See Figure 1 and 2.

[Figure 1]

[Figure 2]

I drank about 3/4 of the can.

Now for my pizza and possibly some Pepto-Bismol®.

--John D.

Mystery Can Six

Dinner for today consisted of cornbread and baked beans. Yes, some of those baked beans were leftovers.

Don't judge.

Today's can was picked by expiration date. This can was going to expire on October 4, 2012. I thought to myself, "I need to hurry up and consume the contents of this can before they go to waste!"

Here is an obligatory picture of the can.

I shook the can. It sounded like soup. Possibly Tomato or Cream of Mushroom.

So far, I've guessed wrong. Let's hope today is the first day I guess right.

Nope.

Turkey Gravy.

I've decided that today is officially "early Thanksgiving." I've got the cornbread. I've got beans. Now I have gravy to go with my beans and cornbread.

The cornbread and gravy mixed together didn't taste terrible. Also, it didn't taste phenomenal. I decided to just drink the gravy out of the bowl.

In summary: No matter the contents of this can, cornbread makes everything better.

Happy early Thanksgiving everyone!

--John D.

Mystery Can Five

Today is the tipping point. After I open and consume half (or more) of the contents of today's can, my journey will be half-way to completion. Six cans will become five today. Five cans will become four tomorrow. This will continue until I have no more mystery cans left. That will be a good day. It may not be an exciting day, or a day filled with surprise, but it will be a good day.

For dinner today I decided to make some more barbecue chicken. I had an extra piece of chicken defrosted from yesterday and I couldn't let it go to waste. In order to have a more balanced meal, and to avoid having the same main course two days in a row, I prepared my chicken into a sandwich with 12-grain bread.

The chicken was baking in the oven. I figured this would be a good time to analyze and open the can. First, analyzation.

It was a beautiful can with an easy-open top. Can I say that a can is beautiful? Since I am the owner of this can, am I allowed to say that I have a beautiful can?

Yes. Yes I am.

Note: I hope that every time I say "can" in this blog, that you don't think of anything except for my tin can.

Anyway. I started looking at my can in detail; looking for clues. Imprinted on the bottom of my can was the following:

10 2014 ME21

Perfect. I could tell that this can would expire in October, 2014. Furthermore, from the text "ME" I could tell that this can was imported from the great state of Maine. ME is the two-letter postal code for Maine. The "21" had to signify that this can contained 21 of something.

Fact: Maine is known for their lobster.

Obviously this can had to be filled with 21 pieces of lobster pre-cooked lobster meat. I shook the can. It sounded just like I'd imagine canned lobster meat to sound. Lobster is delicious, so I was very excited. I had to open the can as soon as possible.

It was white. It smelled kind of fishy. Could this be…? It can't be…

It wasn't.

It was something very different. Actually… I had no idea what this was. I just knew that it was not anything close to lobster. It almost looks like stalks of some vegetable that I've never encountered in my life.

I was frightened.

How do you prepare a vegetable that you've never seen before? How do you prepare a vegetable that might not even be a vegetable?

You boil it.

You boil it dead.

So that's what I did. I boiled the mystery stalks while my chicken baked in the oven. While the unknown food was boiling I tried to take a bite.

Apparently it didn't like that.

I can't really explain what happened. It squished, fell apart, and somehow stayed together, all at the same time. I basically failed at biting this white stringy "vegetable." The texture was unlike anything I've ever experienced in my mouth.

After a failed biting attempt, I decided to let it boil until the chicken was finished. The sandwich was prepared, and I grabbed exactly two of the sticks and put them on my plate. I grabbed a knife to cut this unknown substance into pieces. Apparently my incisors were inadequate to do the job.

It was not good. It was not entirely bad. It had a slightly-sour taste, and a very strange after-taste.

I consumed half of the can. No more. No less.

Later, Jake told me that this strange food was called "heart of palm." I still don't know what that means. Perhaps I'll look it up.

--John D.

Mystery Can Four

Have you ever played a game called, Russian Roulette? I have not. Also, I wouldn't suggest playing the game. I've heard stories about my grandfather though. When my mother's father was alive, and much younger, he used to make a lot of unwise decisions. Playing Russian Roulette was one of those unwise decisions. At least, this is what I have been told by various family members on my mother's side. I've never met my grandfather. He passed away before I was born.

Disclaimer: My grandfather died from non-roulette causes

In Russian Roulette, you have a one-in-six chance of losing. In this game, you could have a 100% chance of losing. This game reminds me of Russian Roulette… only far less dangerous. I don't think many people have died from eating canned food.

But let's look on the bright side. The can I chose today is my last large can.

From here on out, the rest of my canned food items will be uniform. This news may seem dull to you, but to me this news is the best news I've heard since this journey started. This means there will be less to consume, and that is very good news.

To celebrate this blessed occasion, I decided to make something grand.

Barbecue Chicken.

I figured that I should probably plan ahead for the rest of these meals that will accompany the mystery can. This means that it has been marinating since yesterday.

I had no idea what was in this can. Jake even covered up any clues on the top of the can with permanent marker. One of my house mates said, "It kind of looks like baked beans." In my heart, I really wanted him to be right. Baked beans would go great with my chicken.

It was baked beans!

I've never been so happy to see beans before in my life. (Well, there was that one time... but that is a different story for a different day.) I don't think I could stand any more of anything in any kind of syrup.

My chicken still had to bake for another thirty minutes. I put the beans into a pan and let them warm up slowly.

I'm not going to lie. I was really looking forward to this meal. I checked them both occasionally to keep the house from burning to the ground. Eventually the food was finished.

It was delicious.

--John D.