{"id":127387,"date":"2018-07-10T09:00:57","date_gmt":"2018-07-10T13:00:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=127387"},"modified":"2018-07-12T15:30:48","modified_gmt":"2018-07-12T19:30:48","slug":"writers-fridges-ottessa-moshfegh","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/07\/10\/writers-fridges-ottessa-moshfegh\/","title":{"rendered":"Writers\u2019 Fridges: Ottessa Moshfegh"},"content":{"rendered":"

In our series Writers\u2019 Fridges<\/a>, we bring you snapshots of the abyss that writers stare into most frequently: their refrigerators.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Do you see that half-eaten can of tuna on the top shelf? That was a mistake. Most of the food in my fridge is inedible. It would be inedible even if the stink of tuna hadn\u2019t penetrated through it all, because it\u2019s old. I\u2019m almost never at home in Los Angeles, where this fridge lives. I travel a lot, and when I\u2019m in California, I go to Luke\u2019s house, two hours away. Luke\u2019s fridge is a lot like Luke: exploding with deliciousness. Who could be luckier than me? Luke opens his mouth and whole chocolate cakes fall out. He snaps his fingers and voil\u00e0\u2014chicken cacciatore. One time he rolled over in bed and left in his wake an entire patch of strawberries. I don\u2019t know how to explain it. He\u2019s the most wonderful man in the world. I\u2019m always well-fed when Luke is around.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Then I come home, alone, to this\u2014rotten lettuce. I just tried pouring that Soleil carbonated water over ice, and even the ice smelled like fish.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Actually, the lettuce isn\u2019t completely rotten.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a boring story, how I ended up being someone who hates to go to the grocery store. I used to love it. But then I found an apartment in East Hollywood with such limited street parking, I very rarely drive anywhere\u2014I don\u2019t want to risk losing my parking spot. And I have spinal stenosis, among other back problems, which makes carrying heavy things, like groceries, difficult. But the Vons supermarket near my place is kind of great, when I actually get there\u2014it\u2019s huge, and the cashiers are really nice. One woman told me she takes a ninety-minute bus ride to and from work every morning. Three hours per day on a bus to work at Vons? Unbelievable. Another woman said her boyfriend had dumped her on Valentine’s Day, and that he\u2019d been dodging her calls, and that he owes her money. One man with long hair who reminded me of a friend who died last year talked to me a long time about tonic water. I try to look unfriendly when I leave my apartment, to avoid these interactions. It\u2019s not because I don\u2019t like people; it\u2019s just\u2014who can move on with her day after having her heart broken so easily by a stranger? With no man to pull waffles out from behind her ear like quarters? No, no. When I\u2019m home at night, I look in my fridge, and I end up ordering some vegan garbage from Grubhub, and it’s always disgusting\u2014everything tastes like old salad dressing, just like that two-year-old bottle of Wish-Bone Italian you can see in the fridge door. You see those containers of takeout? They were all disgusting. But don\u2019t pity me. If you know me at all, you know that I like it when things are a little disgusting.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you have for dinner?\u201d Luke asks me over the phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cSalad,\u201d I answer. \u201cI think there\u2019s something wrong with my teeth. They\u2019re all soft now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSoft teeth, that\u2019s a symptom of anxiety\u2014insecure realities.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you have for dinner, Luke?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRoast pork loin, mashed potatoes, fresh grilled asparagus, pesto pasta, a bagel and lox, a goat-cheese omelet, a plate of tiny cucumber sandwiches, apple pie my great-great-great grandmother baked, a glass of milk, a glass of Perrier, a glass of pineapple juice, a glass of tonic water with olives, a three-tiered passion-fruit wedding cake, nuts and dried berries found buried in King Tut\u2019s tomb, a vegan hot dog \u2026\u2009\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t buy that pancake syrup. It\u2019s not real maple syrup. As a native New Englander, I take maple syrup very seriously. I also didn\u2019t buy that squeeze bottle of grape jelly hiding in the door. That huge jug of Crystal Geyser was left by a dear friend, Matthew Lessner, who stayed in my apartment last year. I keep it as a memento. He sent me a bumper sticker he designed a few weeks ago: \u201cHONK IF YOU DON\u2019T EXIST.<\/small>\u201d What else? You must see all the vitamins and supplements in the door. I haven\u2019t been taking any of them. That copper pitcher is my favorite thing in the fridge. I went to visit my sister a few months ago, and she looked five years younger. \u201cIt\u2019s the copper,\u201d she said. She\u2019d been drinking distilled water from a copper pitcher. She explained that the fluoride, which the government uses to poison our tap water, leaches the copper out of our bodies. Drinking from a copper vessel is one way to replace it. She really looked revitalized and healthy\u2014and beautiful as always. So I ordered a copper pitcher off Amazon from an Indian distributor. It arrived covered in black dust, with a handwritten note about how to keep it. \u201cFill with water and keep somewhere chill, a peaceful place.\u201d So I keep it in the fridge. In the cool darkness there. It is peaceful. Not much comes. Not much goes. Don\u2019t disturb the vessel please. Just keep it cool. Keep your voices down. Don\u2019t get all hot and bothered. There is nothing to eat, so go out and get a taco, and when you come back, shut the door quietly and go straight to sleep. Magic is brewing. And you don\u2019t want to mess with magic, do you?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ottessa Moshfegh is the author, most recently, of<\/em> My Year of Rest and Relaxation<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In our series Writers\u2019 Fridges, we bring you snapshots of the abyss that writers stare into most frequently: their refrigerators.     Do you see that half-eaten can of tuna on the top shelf? That was a mistake. Most of the food in my fridge is inedible. It would be inedible even if the stink […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1546,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[33520],"tags":[19165,34220,10199,33595],"class_list":["post-127387","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-writers-fridges","tag-eileen","tag-my-year-of-rest-and-relaxation","tag-ottessa-moshfegh","tag-writers-fridges"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nWriters\u2019 Fridges: Ottessa Moshfegh<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"You see those containers of takeout? They were all disgusting. But don\u2019t pity me. 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