Guilty Pleasures: Hangover Cure in a Can

We've all done things that are disgusting while in our cups. Don't even pretend that's not true. Unfortunately, for some of us, those disgusting things become things of comfort, of habit, and ultimately, of necessity.

I am one of the "some."

An atrocity that matches the above specifications is my absolutely filthy habit of slinging off a heinous alcohol-induced headache with a nasty-ass bowlful of Spaghetti-O's-esque product. Back in the days of Franco-American, Spaghetti-O's were the toxic can of artificiality of choice, but since they were fully rebranded as Campbell's, I've veered over to their competitor, Chef Boyardee. Campbell's tends to be more acidic (not good for the unhappy, tequila-sloggy stomach) and therefore tangier than the good Chef's, whose pasta is somewhat firmer and whose sauce is several degrees sweeter.

On a side note, I'm not sure who used to make the sharks and dinosaurs, but my comfort with reddish-orange stuff in an aluminum can with gray lumps of mystery meat started in my childhood in those particular shapes.

Anyway, there's just something about eating junk when you're blitzed. There's been many a cheese fry, hot dog, nacho, quesadilla, and pizza eaten in the name of the"wastey-face," so how far off is a can of Chef Boyardee's ABCs and "1,2,3's"?

Okay, fine; maybe it is a far cry. Maybe it's not the most fresh thing you've ever eaten, or the tastiest, but to each their own, and this is my own. Or, when I've been sickly drunk the evening before, at least.

Because of the difference in the sizes and shapes of the things that make up my favorite hangover snack, no matter whether you heat it in the microwave or on the stove, the temperature is never too hot. That, and for you to resort to eating canned food first thing after a night of cocktail-slinging, you've got to be pretty damn hungry... too impatient to wait for full heat-through!

Each mouthful is only lukewarm, coated generously with a thick sauce that's reminiscent of sweet condensed tomato soup with only half a can of water (oh, the lows I have publicly stooped to just now!). The surface of the sauce has a kind of oily film to it, and the little bits of pasta are thicker than Spaghetti-O's and chewy in an al dente kind of way. The unplaceable meat is a brown-ish gray, lumpish (if that's considered a shape), and soft to the bite but slightly grainy when it falls apart. These questionable meatballs sometimes look like they have paper stuck to them. Tiny little whitish gray bits of paper. Gross.

But still!

There's a semi-long lasting aftertaste of artificial ingredients, but it's not altogether unpleasant. Think of it as a happy memory of feeling better instantaneously ... if you're really weird like me and can eat things that are gross first thing in the morning. Luckily, I only indulge in this humiliating and debasing ritual after some hard drinking, after which I follow the lifestyle of a grandma teetotaler for a month or two.

But for now -- salud!