A Hearty Fuck You from Cream of Tartar

Put me in some baked goods, or throw me the fuck away.

First published December 30, 2022 in Points in Case

Don’t pretend you can’t see me at the back of the spice rack. You’re the one who banished me to this infinite hellscape of longing and despair. At least have the decency to acknowledge my presence before you reject me.

I was considered essential a hundred years ago, but now I’m hidden behind the other unpopular seasonings, like allspice and fenugreek. You stuck me in the spice rack when you moved into this apartment years ago. That was the last time someone touched me.

Do you know how lonely that feels? I’m not even dusted!

Before this, I lived in your mother’s spice rack, where I’d be routinely employed in her recipes. She gave me to you along with some other spices to get you started in your first apartment. With the holidays coming up, I’m dreaming you’ll dig me out for some snickerdoodles or lemon meringue pie, but you don’t bake, so I’m pretty much fucked.

I’ve given up hope when I see the cabinet door swing open, and your big, dumb hand comes lurching toward me. I sit here watching the other spices get taken in and out of the cupboard, as I simmer with jealousy and anguish. I see new spices arrive, and old ones leave empty. Can you imagine how painful that feels?

Abandoning hope, however, comes a profound liberation. You’re never going to use me…