Your fridge: What does it say about you?



What’s in your fridge? I discovered my “staples” have one thing in common. What that says about me is debatable.

Eighty-two percent of Americans form an opinion about someone after viewing the contents of their refrigerator. I guess that means folks are routinely sneaking a peek in the fridge, which, in and of itself, is a little creepy.

Still, when I read the statistic, I just couldn’t help myself. I bounded – in my mind I bound – off to the kitchen and opened the door to see what the stuff in my refrigerator might have to say about me.

There’s an awful lot jammed on those shelves – some things, quite frankly, I’m not sure I want to look at too closely – so I decided to list the foods that jumped out at me, figuratively speaking, of course.

Fifteen containers of mustard, all used at some point and lining a door rack, stood out. Now I’m not a complete wack job. They are different kinds of mustard: honey, spicy brown, sweet hot pepper, Coney Island hotdog, roasted garlic, and Jack Daniels horseradish, to name a few.

I did a little research and found an article titled “What your favorite condiment reveals about your personality.” (In case you think I made this up, here’s the link:

“Mustard usage is strongest among consumers age 35 to 64 and is also favored by those who consider themselves ambitious, self-disciplined and family-oriented,” the article said. “Mustard lovers also rate themselves as more shy than any other condiment-favoring group.”

All of that worked for me, accept the bashful part. Shyness is simply not incorporated into my DNA.

Also in my refrigerator, just above the mustard, were fourteen bottles of hot sauce. (Perhaps I’m a horder. I’ll have to revisit this possibility.) Again, all containers had been previously opened. They included Chipotle Tabasco, West Indian Hot Sauce, Brimstone Caribbean Red, Orange Pulp Habanero, and Big Black Dick’s Hot Cayman Islands Rum Sauce. (It’s a real thing, so stop snickering.)


Who craves hot sauce?

“If you are a man aged 18-34 living in the south or west, you probably prefer hot sauce to all other condiment sauces,” the above-mentioned article said. “You likely. . . are a competitive risk-taker. . .(and are) more happy, ambitious, spontaneous and risk-loving than other condiment users.”

While I’m a woman and the age bracket is wrong – I’m 62, but I’m pretty sure I look much younger – the rest is spot on.

Elsewhere in the fridge there are two crisper drawers, ostensibly for fruits and vegetables. And one does, in fact, house a large array of colorful healthy foods. However, the other drawer is filled with . . . chocolate: dark and milk, chips and cookies and my favorite toffee and carmel and nut confections. Wee Snickers bars peek from the clear plastic edges of the drawer. Multiple varieties of those chocolate slabs Trader Joe’s elves place by the checkout counter rest, half eaten, in a pile. That drawer is stuffed to the brim with sweet things, as if, perhaps, my unconscious mind is prepping for the zombie apocalypse.


“A sweet tooth has been shown to be linked to a willingness to help people out, but chocolate lovers are also emotionally vulnerable,” said another online article. “They’re charming, flirtatious and may even have a penchant for drama.”

While the rest of the fridge was filled with the usual stuff – eggs and bacon and milk, myriad cheeses – I love cheese! – yogurt and containers of things that should have been pitched long ago – it was the wine I focused on. There are always a few bottles chilling, as well as others in racks around the house. (Think the aforementioned zombie apocalypse here. One must be prepared.)

So, what does all this say about me? I haven’t a clue. Unfortunately, the statistic did not come with an answer key, which might have proved useful. So, I considered what mustard, hot sauce, chocolate, and wine all have in common. What did I come up with? They’re all pretty much indestructible. Really. Have you ever seen mold on mustard, hot sauce, chocolate, or wine? No! of course not. They have the half-life of plutonium. Proof: I visited the Cayman Islands nine years ago, which is when I acquired my Big Black Dick hot sauce. And it’s still perfectly fine.

What this all says about me remains elusive. Perhaps you’ll have to come over, sneak a peek in the fridge, and tell me what you think.

Anne Montgomery’s new novel, The Scent of Rain, tells the story of two Arizona teenagers whose fates become intertwined. Rose flees into the mountains to escape from her abusive polygamous community where her only future is marriage to a man older than her father. Adan, whose only wish is to be reunited with his mother, is on the run from the cruelties of the foster care system. Are there any adults they can trust? Can they even trust each other?  The Scent of Rain is available at and wherever books are sold.


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