FOOD FOR THOUGHT

I love to cook.  I also love to eat, but for now lets focus on my love of cooking.  The eating thing will just lead to feeling sad that none of my spring collection fits which leads to seeing what’s in the fridge that will fit in my face which leads right back to cooking.  That’s the quick trip to today’s topic. 

Since I love to cook, I read a lot of those cooking magazines, and watch the cooking shows and such.   I have noticed a trend over the years, because I pay attention.  The trend is that we have changed the way we name foods.  Food names used to be cool. Although I will be the first to admit I don’t understand the logic behind Strawberry slump or apple brown Betty although (I am surprised some PC group hasn’t lobbied Congress to devote far too much time discussing getting that name changed), I fully get Devil’s food cake – it’s chocolately and bad for you and oh so tempting.  Makes perfect sense.    What about  fish sticks?  They were not made from real sticks, hell, they probably weren’t even made from real fish, but I loved ‘em.  Dinners featuring main courses like Shepard’s Pie and Sloppy Joes nourished my childhood.  Although I never met an actual herder of sheep, or knew just how sloppy Joe was,  I ate their namesake dishes and asked for seconds.  

Now whenever I  am in a restaurant that doesn’t have a drive through window, nothing  makes me cramp up more than the phrase  ‘Let me tell you about our specials’ .  OK, I lie a little.  The phrase ‘Oh Kitten, I forgot my wallet can you cover the tab.? And could you add another shot of Jaeger to that tab?’   puts me right  into the fetal position.  But that’s a topic for another  time. 

While the server launches into a hand-clasping dinner special soliloquy worthy of a Tony nomination I frantically try to grasp a few of the key words.  While the server is saying something like   “Tonight we are offering Basil infused citrus marinated Pacific Shrimp impaled on organically spawned rosemary skewers furtively  kifed  from the chef’s maternal grandmother’s neighbor’s  backyard herbal topiary,  and  Xanadu Lava-seared tenderloin of bovine who died in his sleep in a field of daisies, slathered in an reduction of butterfly harvested raspberries  and a thrice gossamer filtered clover honey balsamic vinegar accompanied with  a dollop of garlic scented potato eyes and arugula sprout embryos served on a microscope slide’  what I am processing goes something like this:   Basil – Basil Fawlty – Fawlty Towers.  Towering Inferno.  Shelly Winters was in that.  Winter seems to be hanging around. Little icy this morning.  Microscope slide… I slid off the porch this morning .  Think I twisted my ankle.   So when the server asked what I would be having, all I can say is ‘Yeah, Tony, I’ll have a Stoli martini up with a twist. ‘ 

I should probably not be so critical of this new foodie fad.  To be honest,  I may very well be the inspiration for it (just like Jeggings and ombre hair coloring).   Please savor my explanation,  much as you would a subterranean legume emulsification coupled with an overwhelming amalgamation of the chicken output albumen, syrup of golden kernel  farm-fresh maize and sparkling crystals of highly processed sweetness, cradled between twin slices of pain blanc.  Tthat would be fancy talk for your basic fluffernutter on white bread.

Ya see, back when I was still making an attempt to be a good mom,  one day the principal called me at work.  Well, she called me at work more than one day—a lot more -- but this particular call  fits this particular subject.  Seems my first born was having a hard time concentrating and staying awake in class.  Before I could offer my theory that the teacher was probably droning on about something that he would never use in the real world like poetry or diagramming sentences or  good grammar, she expressed her concern that his predicament was directly related to the breakfast he had eaten.  Did he really have cold Spaghetti-Os  and a Coca cola both right out of the can? “Oh that scamp,’ I  I scoffed nervously.  As the beads of sweat formed on my brow, I started creating.  ‘As I recall, he feasted on pillow soft pasta halos bathed in a mild tomahto  (I actually said To-MaH-To) and aged parmesan  sauce served en tin.  This was paired with an effervescent elixir brewed from the finest Peruvian coca leaves, presented in a chilled ruby cylinder.’  Oh my, you must have been up early to prepare that.  You are the  best mom ever.  She did not say, but I am sure she was thinking it.

While I ponder whether I should embrace this pretentious food movement, that I may or may not be responsible for,  I’l l nourish my brain and my belly with golden buttery-enhanced orbs of flaky salt-crusted crostini, embellished with fluorescent aerated  fromage---ah, to hell with it.  It’s squirty cheese on a Ritz cracker, and it’s darned tasty.