Everything is Burning, Least of All My Mouth I burned the roof of my mouth on my frozen Trader Joe’s burrito, and for once that’s not the worst part of my day. Obviously, the burrito wasn’t frozen when I burned my mouth on it— I guess more accurately it would be my microwaved Trader Joe’s burrito, but I was hoping to preserve some mystique around my culinary habits. Maybe he preheated the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit, placed the burrito on a baking sheet and baked it uncovered for 10 minutes before removing it from the oven, wrapping it in foil, placing it back on the baking sheet and back in the oven, and continuing to bake it for 15 to 20 minutes longer or until the center was hot (145 degrees Fahrenheit to 155 degrees Fahrenheit) and the tortilla was crisp and golden around the edges—is what I hoped you were thinking. The truth is I didn’t even follow the microwaving instructions; I cooked my burrito partway then opened it up so I could add cheese (the Trader Joe’s Mildly Spiced Organic Vegetable Burritos are tasty and filling, but also dairy-free, and not quite mild enough for me). Anyway, in times like these it is surprisingly helpful to remember that terrible things have always been happening, and if poems about frozen burritos had any value then, they have at least as much now, if not more.
Certain of Eventual Failure 