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Ready meals: the fridge monsters we don't always say no to
Ready meals: the fridge monsters we don't always say no to

We all have a dark side, an unspeakable secret that we try to keep hidden from the world. We are a bit of Walter White from Breaking Bad, in the swing between good and evil, between good and right flavors and the temptation to eat the wrong thing.

Analyzing the impetuous success of the ready meals in recent years one would say that we are a people of devourers of typical products only in words, because then in secret, in the home, when friends and colleagues cannot see us, here comes the dinner in the form of a ready-made dish that of typical it only keeps the name.

Because let's face it, we too have had a close encounter with convenience food at least once, as some call it with a literal translation that, for once, gives the idea.

Temporary style drops, B-sides, little slips, temptations we can't say no to

Foods “to be stir-fried” (stir fry) or cooked and frozen in a single block (ready meals) that we have tasted by choice or by obligation, it is useless to deny it, sometimes deriving enjoyment, in their greasy, salty one-flavor sauce.

Yes, but there is a limit. The convenience food market, which today counts 3,000 companies in Italy for 4,500 employees (even if Nestlè and Sagit control it for 90%) has gone further.

Here is a list of the worst atrocities that would make us eat in moments of weakness. I, to these, I said no.

Do you feel heroic too?


In life, things change, and if in the past you have indulged in the “luxury” of a cutlet-like, but let's call it by its name, Spinacina, it's time to turn the page.

For me, for example, who once was crazy about it, everything has changed since I discovered that inside there is mechanically separated flesh, that is, beelzebub in flesh and blood (especially bones!). The ready meal is fine, it is fine to suffer from the lethal mix of hunger and haste, but you shouldn't take that either.


frozen pizza in the oven
frozen pizza in the oven

I am aware that I am asking you for an enormous self-defeating effort. Frozen pizza, even if it is something that guarantees you a certain place in the most macabre Dante circles, you have tried it at least once.

I, after 15 years, recently (thanks to a spirit of immolation for the good of others and for gastronomic science) I tried it again. And, now, I think it will be another 25 before I feel all this philanthropy again.


Technology in the kitchen has reached levels that were unthinkable until some time ago. And the multinationals of the “ready made” are avant-garde “on the piece”.

With ready-to-cook dishes inside a plasticine pyramid, we are at Zenit for the human category that “whatever technology is, I'll buy it”. But, I assure you, leave the mushroom risotto in a pyramid where you found it.

Nobody feels excluded: not even you. Yes, because you too have your skeletons in the closet. For example, I continue to eat the captain's sticks with impunity, relieving my gastro-chic conscience and introducing false psychoanalytic transference.

The reality is that I know I like them.



Raise your hand if you have never tried them. The originals have been copied in a thousand sauces, but none of these variants has ever managed to convince me, despite occasionally falling into the trap. The worst are the mushroom ones, but I can't save even one of the other flavors.

Quite simply, I think they have had their day, helping mothers in crisis of culinary imagination and delighting off-site students. Now, however, the time has come to say enough is enough.


I regret and regret my sins: in my freezer, after a long period of redemption, you will no longer find that comforting package of pre-cooked potatoes and rosmarinated properly. Not anymore, because I can no longer stand the visual tragedy of the diced portioned dressing.

That magma of crystallized sunflower oil, garlic and rosemary oil, shaped like a Lego cube, is something that today is beyond my food tolerances.

I shudder at the thought of how many times that little geometric grease melted in my pan, taking on a not so reassuring greenish-gray color. I will not sin anymore.

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