This recipe started a few months ago when my husband decided that he would do the grocery shopping. The problem is that the man has no idea of what the term “pantry staples” actually means. He thinks that it means flour, salt, baking soda, and shit like that.
It is as if the man has never eaten my cooking. Staples include: no fewer than three tins of diced tomatoes, two small tins of chopped jalapeños, frozen corn, tinned black beans, and the following veggies in some form: celery, carrots, broccoli, onions, green beans, onions, PEPPERS (green at the very least, red is just human rights and other peppers as the graciousness of civilaization,)
But someone, and we will not mention names here, has left me in possession of Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboards. When I said “I need veggies” he bought me Old Glory’s stewed okra, tomatoes and corn. WTF? Does he think that all okra is created equally? Just because I LOVE fried fresh okra does not mean that I want that slimy shit out of a can any where in my house.
To top it off, my darling husband has been a bit of a shit-head the last few days. I have been threatening possum and poorly cooked broccoli if he ruined today. He was well-behaved for a while. But suffice it to say, I am NOT happy.
So here is what I had in my Hubbard Cupboards, two containers of leftover take-out rice, a pound of aging ground beef, some sort of horrible “chili beans” from Hormel (seriously what the fuck is chili beans? Chili is a PRODUCT not a type of beans). We had the aforementioned hideous cans of slimy okra nastiness, garlic,various spice packages, and a corn/pepper combo. In dairy we had sour cream, and a chunk of cheddar.
So I created something that I call Punishment Possum. Spoiler: No actual possums were harmed in the making of this dish. I sautéed six onion with a metric fuck-ton of garlic.(Have I mentioned that I want him to SUFFER) Then I fried up the hamburger adding back the onions after the first bit of cooking was done.
I rinsed the beans from their nasty chemical whatever. I picked the okra out of the tins of shit, leaving corn and tomatoes. For whatever reason, the manufacturer left large hunks of tomato, so I diced those. (Anger mounting. Seriously, how hard is it to use uniform chunks of tomato?) I added them after the beef, onions and garlic were done. I added two packages of chili seasoning and the leftover rice. Then I stirred in the sour cream, topped it with the leftover cheddar cheese, slapped the lid on it, and popped that fucker in a 350 oven for 20 minutes.
Meanwhile I had my liquid diet supplement of vodka with a chaser of beer. After all, I didn’t need to suffer along with the miscreants who force me to cook with one hand tied behind my back.
I called it Punishment Possum in the hopes that my husband and my son (who is guilty because he also does the grocery shopping) would learn a lesson from depriving me of the basic ingredients needed for life.
Damn it all to fucking hell! It turned out wonderfully! And now my family wants Punishment Possum again.