You stuff all the frozen and refrigerated food into two big bins (not owning big coolers), and wrap the bins in blankets until your landlord gets a new fridge moved upstairs.
Of course you cook the defrosting shrimp with the half-lemon from the crisper, and some salt, and eat it with the cocktail sauce you’d have to throw out otherwise (to reference George Carlin’s Ice Box Man).
All while you cry with a good friend.
Then you wipe your eyes and make an amazing pasta salad with the already cooked natural chicken breasts, organic red pepper, defrosted green beans, a can of mushrooms (‘cuz you can’t help loving canned mushrooms, comfort food from your childhood), Flour City multicolor “pizza” pasta, oregano dried from the community garden, and basil & garlic cheese curds from Argyle Cheese Farmers, sold to you by Marjorie with a smile lo those months ago, and hidden in the freezer for a cheese emergency.
You feed the pasta salad to everybody who comes by to mourn the fridge’s demise.
Then you meditate on food you’ve saved, food you’ve lost, food you’ve hoarded; the temporal nature of foodstuffs and life, and finally, how delicious it is to be forced to eat cold shrimps on a hot afternoon, accompanied by a Long Trail Blackbeary beer and people who love you.