Sun-kissed and road-weary, I just returned from the beach, where the pristine cleanliness of the vacation-rental kitchen inspired a purging of the Fox fridge. After unpacking the mildewed swimsuits and dustbustering the sand from my duffle, I attacked the icebox, jettisoning my body-weight in moldy blocks of cream cheese, calcified bricks of cheddar and half-empty jars of relish. (Yes, Pollyanna, they were half-EMPTY.)
I even poured steaming water on the glass shelves to melt away the crystallized pools of last summer's Breeden's Orchard peach preserves. The exercise left me feeling about as good as any other painful constitutional--à la the annual prophylactic dental cleansing or license tag renewal--and my empty, gleaming Kenmore is a sight to behold.
The Family Procurement Officer is on his way to Kroblix to start afresh. With such an unprecedented opportunity to start with a clean slate--a clean plate, even--I want to get it right. What should I put on his shopping list?