Sloppy Joes were one of the meals I always looked forward to as a kid. I thought they were the absolute bomb taste wise (I was young, and anything from a can was a-ok with me back then). Plus, they were called Sloppy Joes. I got to eat them with my hands and make whatever kind of disaster on my face that I wanted to.
Ok, being honest, that actually didn’t last too long. Pretty soon I was given Sloppy Joes as a pile of meat on the bottom half of a bun with a knife and fork. Well played parents, well played.
Sloppy Joes Then
Discerning palate that I had, if I saw those brown cans of Sloppy Joe sauce out on the counter, I was bouncing around the kitchen in anticipation all afternoon. I’m pretty sure when I saw them at the grocery store a couple of years ago, I did the exact same thing. I’d completely forgotten about this as a meal and squealed out loud, like, not just in my head. I’m incredibly embarrassing to shop anywhere with, especially somewhere with food.
I loaded up the cart with a bunch of cans, grabbed some ground beef, and thought “DONE!”. I went home, browned my meat, stirred in the sauce, and smiled. Then I revelled in the fact my kids were about to raise me up to God status and it took me all of ten minutes to make happen.
Then I tasted it, I swore, and I ordered a pizza.
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