Tag Archives: food

Best. Sentence. Ever. (Again.)

26 May

blog image baileys

Today’s sentence is brought to you by Cameron, age 16.

Let’s say you have a boy.  Let’s also suppose that The Boy and his friends, including Cameron, have a band.

And finally, to keep it interesting, let us also put forth the proposition that the band will practice at your house every Friday night regardless of whether you have a headache, want to practice silent meditation or need to surf the couch in your tattered pajamas while drinking Bailey’s Irish Cream and eating Kellogg’s Rice Krispies even though it’s still kind of light out and now you’re no longer drinking the Bailey’s and eating the cereal but are, rather, pouring the Bailey’s over the cereal and eating it all with a soup spoon.  But I digress.  (Which is what happens when I eat Bailey’s.)

Eventually, the band is going take a break.  Not because their heads are pounding from making all that “music”- my stars, doesn’t anyone cover a nice Sam Cooke song anymore?  Why cant the band be in a sad mood tonight?  Or any night.  No, the band stops because they are hungry.  (Again, sad moods have been proven to reduce appetites but, alas, this band is delirious.)

Which brings us to Cameron’s question: “What’s for food?”

And, really, Cameron, this is America.  The question you should be asking is “what isn’t food?”

From a flavor-blasted Goldfish to a Dunkaccino* beverage to a genetically modified vegetable that can self reproduce then gather up a bunch of its buddies to outnumber and kill us all, we are a nation that will eat just about anything as long as there is melted cheese or Bailey’s Irish Cream on it.  I’m speaking from personal experience here (especially after 10PM or following a Paul Rudd movie).

So with a wave of my wand (not really- it was more like a quick snap! crackle! and pop!) followed by three clicks of my heels (or I may have just purchased three pairs of pumps from Zappos.  It’s hard to tell; things also get blurry when I eat Bailey’s), I answered Cameron’s question and “fed” the band.  (PS: I hope it’s the shoes.)

* Second-best sentence ever: INGREDIENTS: Water, Dunkaccino Powder {Sugar, Creamer [Partially Hydrogenated Coconut Oil, Corn Syrup Solids, Sodium Caseinate (a milk derivative), Dipotassium Phosphate, Sugar, Mono and Diglycerides, Sodium Silicoaluminate, Sodium Stearoyl Lactylate, Soy Lecithin, Artificial Flavors, Annatto and Tumeric (Color)], Sweet Cream Powder [Pasteurized Sweet Cream, Skim Milk Solids, Soybean Oil, Corn Syrup Solids, Sodium Caseinate (a milk derivative), Mono and Diglycerides, Soy Lecithin], Natural and Artificial Flavor, Instant Coffee, Sweet Dairy Whey, Cocoa processed with alkali, Nonfat Dry Milk, Cellulose Gum, Salt, Silicon Dioxide}.

Mon Regime fou Francais (My Crazy French Diet)

18 Jul


Eat dessert twice a day (space it out if desired).

Follow with: unlimited cream, whole milk, whole eggs, coffee (see “unlimited cream”), bread, cheese, beer, wine and crepes.

Stroll for miles because it’s beautiful and because you can.

Smoke like there’s no cancer (or tomorrow).

Visit the burial sites of Seurat, Chopin, Morrison, Wilde, Molière and others.

Return 4 pounds lighter with the dust of a thousand souls in the cuffs of your pants.

Cost: $1,000 per pound.

(Only €850 per kilo though!)

Repeat as necessary.  And it will become necessary.

You Dirty Rat

28 Mar

blog image ratatouille

To:  Spouse

From:  Management

Subject:  Dried Fruit Policy

When you spill dried blueberries on the floor and then, say, answer a ringing phone, or gaze out the window, what happens is this: your attention gets diverted from the dried blueberries on the floor long enough so that when you resume whatever it was you were doing before you spilled the dried blueberries on the floor, the blueberries have become a distant memory of “having at one time spilled” or “a nagging, unformed thought” that remain, in reality, dried blueberries scattered all over the floor, everywhere.

Now, those of you who have seen dried blueberries spilled on a floor are probably already aware of how dried blueberries on a floor look like rat turds in a corner.

Which is how, while searching the pantry for a Tagalong (or three), I came to screaming my head off amidst a mountain of scat. 

Convinced that we had Pixar’s “Ratatouille” (minus the cuteness and cooking skills) running rampant throughout the house, I yelled and yelled until I became weary.  Then I had two thoughts:

a movie about a gourmet restaurant with an animated rat running the kitchen- how did that even get made?

And secondly-

“I bet The Boy is eating in his room.  All those nights when he put spoons under his pillow because the teachers at school said that that’s how you get a snow day- he was probably eating yogurt with those spoons.”

Blueberry yogurt.”

“Blueberry Greek yogurt.”  (I’m not sure why I added the Greek part but it sounds ominous.)

“What if the house is now crawling with rats and we have to move and our house is condemned and we end up in the gutter?

Where there are even more rats.  Plus squirrels and rusty cans and things!

What then?  How could this happen?”

I screamed for as long as I could and as loud as I could.  (Answer: pretty long and very loud.)

I hollered right up until Spouse said “and so I guess I just forgot.”

Then it got quiet.  Eerily quiet.

So quiet and so still.

And I was so tired and so drained.

We had no choice but to go out for dinner.

We may even have to go out for dinner again tomorrow.

Effective immediately, new dried fruit policy: you spill it, you clean it and I pick the restaurant.

cc: Boy.

Trick or Treat- here’s my policy

31 Oct

Take candy from a stranger?  No problem.  If it’s chocolate, I’ll eat it right there, straight pins and all.  Unless:

the house smells like cigarette smoke or pee,

has a ferret or senior living in it. (I will ask.)

Is creepy.

Has trademarked character or “Believe,” “Believe in Yourself,” or “Life is a Journey” type flags displayed on the premises (also creepy).

Has a chain link fence around the yard with a pit bull size spot dug out underneath.

Hands out anything homemade.  Do you have any idea how much human touching goes into making popcorn balls?  Gross.

I will not visit a house that gives out dimes

or asks me to perform a trick

or makes me do a trick and then gives me a dime.  (In my neighborhood, this was the Hoffman family.  They also confiscated our baseballs when they landed in their yard.  They were jerks and they never adjusted for inflation.)

I will not accept candy from a house that has overflowing garbage cans out front when it’s not even “Garbage Eve” or

has icicle lights hanging from the gutters all year long.  (This clause applies only to icicle lights.  Regular lights may hang year round in case of a Cinco de Mayo emergency.)

Is where the god people live.

Look, it’s my policy, not yours.  You don’t like it, get your own candy.

What Summer Means to Me (hint: it’s neither flip flops nor frisbee although frisbee is awesome and flip flops are gross)

7 Jun

In a word, mayonnaise.  And that’s if I’m feeling fancy.

Otherwise, mayo.

Unless I need a dose of moral superiority, then it’s Vegenaise.

Full fat, not light and definitely not a whip or a dressing.  You miracle people know who you are and you are wrong.

Summer is potato salad, mac salad and tomato sandwiches.

Maybe a BLT.  Followed by a hammock.

Opt for fake bacon and your superior points increase.

Grow your own lettuce for triple point score.  Grow your own arugula and you win.

And that’s what summer is about.  Beating the pants off my neighbors in a food/relaxation challenge.

Game on.

If You Give Your Mom a Bagel

10 May

If you give your mom a bagel, she’ll want a gated community to go with it.

She’ll sell the house in which you were raised (at an awesome recession-defying price) and find a bunch of like-minded seniors to share manicured lawns and prohibit swing sets with.

She’ll ask for some cream cheese.  To get the cream cheese you will drive around the Food King until you find a pull-through spot.  (No one backs up here; it’s too dangerous.  Mrs. Gershon had a fender bender last week and she beeps the horn before she even starts the car.)

After eating the cream cheese, she’ll want to walk off the calories (what?  It would’ve killed you to get low-fat?)  At the fitness center, one of the residents will tell you that jogging, no matter how slow, violates the treadmill speed limit which is embarrassing because:

a.  your husband says that you look like Jerry Lewis when you run and,

b.  you are way too sweaty for someone moving oh so slow.  So you and mom will leave.

On the way home, she’ll spot an unauthorized lawn ornament in the neighbor’s yard.  She’ll want to report it to the Front Desk.

She’ll ask you for a pen and paper to fill out the complaint.  You will have neither because everyone today uses an iphone to send complaints.

So she’ll want an iphone of her own.

You have to take her to the Apple store.

When she is all finished, she’ll decide that “getyowza” is her favorite website because she and your father can dine out at significant savings in restaurants that are close to Bravo Living- An Adult Community which is nice because of all the recent automobile crashes (see above).

When the shopping is done, she’ll realize that she’s hungry.  She’ll ask if you want to stop at the diner where she’ll order a bagel.

And chances are, when she gets her bagel, she’ll want a security guard and some Mexican landscapers to go with it.

Happy Mother’s Day!

(I love my mom and bagels.  Just not together.)

Rollerblades, Alex Trebek, X-Ray Specs and (super) me

4 Apr

If granted one wish for a superpower, the best superpower to ask for would be the ability to transport myself anywhere in no time at all.  Sunshine always, except when I fancy a bit of rain.  Or authentic Mexican food.

The ability to read other people’s minds is overrated and besides, I’m not sure I’d want to know when someone (spouse, child, most likely spouse) did not find me charming.  Or that my habit of interrupting with completely unrelated bits of information is less adorable than it feels.  Although sometimes, to make the interruption seem less rude, I will phrase it in the form of a question like: “did you know that Alex Trebek recently thwarted a robbery in the San Francisco Marriott Marquis by chasing down the criminal on foot?  I’m sorry, you were saying…”

Calorie-free food would be awesome but immediate transport power beats food power because, with time saved on commuting to the gym, one might actually go inside and work out instead of sitting in the parking lot, listening to a new indie band on NPR and then driving home to eat peanut butter straight from the jar- while trying to decide what to make for dinner.  Calories become unimportant as all the muscle-building, fat-burning Zumba you are now doing has turned you into a metabolic dynamo.

Having the ability to know if clothes and/or shoes fit well without having to try them on would also rock but the wish fairy has already created Zappo’s.

I would not rule out the ability to halt an eye roll with my mind (see “interrupting” above).  Because watching faces distort is its own reward and I live with folks who, to me, seem to roll their eyes excessively.

While x-ray specs are awesome, comes a time when there is so much behind the scenes infrastructure in place, burning a wish on see-through clothing only to have it result in a peek at scaffolding and boobs seems wasteful.

Being able to forgive sounds good, but not at the cost of forgetting.  I am essentially an elephant when it comes to forgetting, and my knees.  They’re baggy.  It’s genetic.  You are all on notice about the forgetting thing though.

So until I achieve Wonder Woman status at home, I’m sticking with WD40.  It’s the closest thing to having a superpower and did you know that it can be used to remove Rollerblade marks from kitchen floors and that Abraham Lincoln was the first president to have a beard?  Who roller blades in the kitchen?  I’m sorry, you were saying…

Antibiotic Season

14 Feb

Because antibiotics come with a warning to avoid direct, prolonged exposure to sunlight, winter in upstate NY is definitely the best time for an infection.

Any kind of sunlight is so rare here in February that come March, when the faintest hint of green appears in our lives, when we are so desperate for kelly-tinted nourishment, we lose common sense and, in a moment of reckless abandon, double our order.

I am, of course, referring to the Girl Scout Thin Mint Cookie.

Boxes ordered so cavalierly in January- as if bleak calories count less than regular calories- are stashed away and hoarded.  Some end up in the freezer for summer, others are intended as gifts while others are hidden for those days when Mommy wants a shot of whiskey in her coffee but it’s seven-thirty in the morning and she has to drive a certain someone to Middle School.  Of course, some cookies are simply eaten.

Or is it simple?  Once the Thin Mints make it into the house, what surely follows are the marital spats over the true definition of a serving size, the discussion that, no, Keebler grasshopper cookies are not the same as the Thin Mint and if they are, in fact, that much alike, why don’t you eat the damn grasshopper cookies and leave me the Thin Mints?  And no March would be complete without “The Wasting of the Thin Mints by Crumbling Them over Ice Cream” monologue- you either want ice cream or a cookie (or seven), not both.  The world is made up of two kinds of people- be a decider.

The lack of prolonged sunshine combined with the consumption of Thin Mints followed by swimsuit guilt is enough to make a person sick.

Which is why I needed antibiotics in the first place.

I hate Girl Scouts.

More untapped career choices

31 Jan

Here’s what happens when you’ve been unemployed for a while: the “dream job” that you often fantasized about while AT WORK becomes significant as your six-week review with the “employment solutions counselor” is here and you must have something to show for your time besides a renewed appreciation for the character “Lucky” as voiced by Tom Petty on “King of the Hill.”  (Side note: Tom Petty is a native Floridian.)


So, to my employment counselor I offer:

Second to Naan: a lunch truck that serves, stuffed or topped, freshly baked naan.  You may ask how successful an Indian lunch truck could  be here in Venisonland but that, I feel, is a question more for a counselor with “solutions” in her title than it is for me.  I’m too busy thinking.

Thinking: so obvious yet it appears on my soon to be released “List of Endangered Things.”  I could do this for any number of employers.

Batter Up: a food truck that will deep fry ANYTHING.  From baby shoes to engagement rings as well as the classics: Oreos, apple pies and sticks of butter.  Located in Cooperstown, NY, this service caters to visitors to the Baseball Hall of Fame and is aptly named.

The Truth Booth: a cardboard washing machine box that sets up anywhere (parties, reunions, etc.) to afford privacy.  For a fee, you may bring an individual into the booth whereupon I will tell them what you cannot.  Specializing in: “that hairstyle makes you look like you’re 100” and “your son (daughter) is smoking the (your) pot,” we also create custom rhyming verse like:

“Your spouse is a louse/get him out of the house./Yeah and the other day in the kitchen?/I saw a mouse.  You need to clean, girl.”

or even Haiku:


dry, dusty cooking

eternal sands of marriage

ketchup is my friend.


And from my employment counselor I request:

a part-time, sit down (in one of those vertebrae-aligning kneeling chairs and not a cushy wheely chair) but not too much sitting (as a visit to WebMD indicates that Spinal Stenosis can be aggravated by sitting), number- crunching (but not crazy big theoretical numbers with all kinds of commas and decimals), well-paying position with a mediumsmall-large company and a window.  For my ferret.


I suppose we may have to meet in the middle on this.

Meet in the Middle: a lunch truck that prepares selections from the middle of other restaurant menus and deep fries them.  For a fee.  Comes with a side of truth.

Women who Eat will Rule the World

17 Jan

Women who eat will rule the world because women who eat are hungry and they know it.  Women who eat do not confuse hunger with thirst, affection-deprivation or the need to declare war.

A woman who dives fiercely into an eggplant parm sub is a woman who would also jump fearlessly into the lion’s den, the principal’s office or the long line at DMV for you.

A woman who eats is sexy.  That eggplant sandwich is a meal that engages her senses completely- from the hot, melted cheese to the greasy, meaty eggplant.  And when her senses are engaged, when she is grunting and salivating and burning skin off the roof of her mouth, she is physically experiencing a sandwich in a way that makes you jealous.

Women who eat also do chores- because they have the energy to lift, and tote, and bale.  Besides, you do it wrong anyway.

A woman who enjoys eating also enjoys cooking. Fruit and yogurt, ham and cheese or scrambled eggs with toast will satisfy for only so long before you crave the spice and heat and texture that a woman who eats knows can be satiated with ginger miso soup made in minutes.

She won’t tell you how she makes it, or how she knows that you need it.  She will set it before you- teaming with delicate and exotic flavors and you will savor it while all the while pondering how you ever got this far without her.

And in the time it takes her to clear the table, you will realize that you can’t be without her or her appetite or how she sometimes forgets to breathe between bites.

Women who eat will rule the world, not with an iron fist, but with an iron skillet handed down by their mothers, seasoned by generations before.

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