You know what I'm talking about. Big Easy, someone with no idea what that phrase means may have mistakenly referred to it once. I'm talking about the poor man's mirepoix, replacing onions and celery with more geometrically-correct peas and corn.
You can get this stuff after a mere thirty minutes of panhandling, pickpocketing, or rolling drunks in an alley. [Note: I mean with money, from the store. Don't take a drunk man's last bag of mixed vegetables.]
The key behind mixed vegetables, besides conserving valuable hobo calories by avoiding the cutting board, is that you can use them for anything. After all, plain old mixed vegetables have the bland and somehow demeaning taste of grade-school cafeteria hot dogs. That taste that makes you think of crying and stripping for your uncle as soon as your fishing boat is out of sight of the rest of your family.
After cooking the vegetables to the desired tenderness, I mix in a healthy amount of butter/margarine (to tell the truth, I never measure). This is to pump my body full of wholesome and nourishing polyunsaturated fats and lecithin. Some black pepper, salt, and perhaps a spice duo (I'm weird; I like cayenne and a tiny bit of cinnamon) and I have instantaneous nourishment for the modern tramp, even if I pass out from hunger before I can actually get any of it in my mouth.
Sometimes I pretend I'm a Rockefeller and use my uncashable paychecks as napkins.