Contemplating starvation in the middle of a Walmart aisle

Sep. 16—I stood in the middle of the aisle, staring intently at the growing collection of groceries accumulating inside our cart as I struggled to decipher what, exactly, we were going to do with them.

Even back then, long after I'd given up my teenage fantasies of cooking elaborate, delicious meals inside my parents' kitchen, but also long before I'd adopted the middle-age fantasies of cooking simple, delicious meals inside my own, I had a vague idea of how we'd use the stacks of veggies — beautiful yellow squash, deep red tomatoes, an entire bag full of potatoes and even an onion or two — to feed ourselves. The concept of preparing a meal using fresh foodstuffs was there, roaming around in the far recesses of my mind. But at that moment, under the pressure of actually considering our theoretical menu for the week and then actually getting what we needed to do it, I cracked like an egg.

"What's wrong with you?" Mandy asked, her face twisted in befuddlement as she watched me gaze blankly into the shopping cart. "Why are you just standing there?"

"I don't know," I told her. "I just ... I'm just not sure what we're going to have for dinner."

Eyebrow cocked in disbelief, Mandy gave me a look she now reserves for those times when our 7-year-old daughter claims it will take her hours to clean her tiny bedroom or when I guarantee her I did something competently on the first try.

The incident I'm describing to you happened years ago, so I can't precisely recall what she said to me. But I've spent half my life around Mandy, so I think I have a pretty good grasp on her response.

I believe it was, "What?"

She was right to be skeptical. This was before we had the kid, a period in our lives in which we had both time and energy to do things like plan out a week's worth of meals using only fresh ingredients, and sleep.

But it was as if my brain couldn't crest a steep hill — every time I'd get close, my thoughts would just come rolling back down to where they started. I could see the food stacked in the cart, knew we could use that food to make multiple meals, but really couldn't grok how to put everything together and make it happen.

For much of my life, food was, to me, pre-packaged. I'd buy my ground beef in tubes (still do), my veggies in cans (still do), my fries in bags (uh ... yup) and my tomato sauce in jars (OK, I guess things haven't changed that much). Life's so much simpler when it's pre-packaged, unencumbered by all the messy extra preparation demanded by proper food.

Although I'm learning to be more of a quote-unquote cook now, for much of my history, meal preparation for me boiled down to four steps and four steps only:

STEP 1: Open bag.

STEP 2: Dump contents of open bag in heated skillet.

STEP 3: Wait 15 minutes.

STEP 4: Eat, with or without a plate. Enjoyment is also optional.

Easy, breezy, not so beautiful.

As I've aged, I've learned to find joy in the process of cooking a meal. Sure, I usually still make an incredible mess and, more often than my scarred fingers like, turn the kitchen into an abattoir with my clumsy knife skills. But I've also discovered how satisfying it can be to take my time, follow a recipe step by step (over four, but no more than seven), and create something that's — hopefully — delicious.

But that's now, and the story you're reading takes place then, and I can remember standing there, staring at that cart full of food as if it were a box filled with puzzle pieces just waiting to be snapped together. My poor, youthful brain was at a loss. If we didn't have pre-packaged, ready-to-eat foods, what would we do?

I was very likely considering how long I could go without eating when Mandy snapped me back to reality.

"Adam," she said firmly. "Meat and vegetables, that's a meal. Now we have our vegetables, let's go get the meat."

"Oh," I said, "Yeah. OK. Meat and vegetables."

One part of the puzzle, just a corner, snapped into place.

"That makes sense," I said. "Let's do this."

I recall raising my hand for a high-five, but Mandy was already off down the next aisle.

ADAM ARMOUR is the news editor for the Daily Journal and former general manager of The Itawamba County Times. You may reach him via his Twitter handle, @admarmr.