My husband's eating habits can be described metaphorically in a number of ways: he's a scavenger, a human garbage disposal. He forages in the fridge and grubbers through the cupboards. I've described him in these ways before. But it wasn't until just a little while ago that I think I nailed what it's like to watch him come home after work and dig about for food.
To be true, it consists of much less digging and much more concocting.
He's like a chemist.
He pulls out all sorts of jars and bottles and with a sauce in one hand and a dressing in the other gets to work creating. The flurry of motion is not unlike what I imagine the mad scientist to look like soon after his brilliant idea strikes.
It takes only a few minutes for the blur to die down. Slowly the various potions make their way back where they came from and the chemist turns around, satisfied.