Category: food

The Latest

In the 1960s, as far as I know, we came in America to have T.V. dinners. I remember the first time Mom brought a few home. She looked at the shiny, foil trays and asked, “Can this be any good?”

Thirty years ago, it was Tofu. Tofu was in everything or they were making it out of tofu. “What is it?” “It’s the miracle food, tofu!”

Tofu didn’t always lend itself to everything in the early days. I experienced some nasty, funky tofurkey on one ghastly Thanksgiving. But progress was made. Textures, appearance, and flavoring improved. Tofu came a looong way.

We shifted from white rice to brown rice. Fat-free and non-fat became the cry, but then people asked for a little fat. “Please, sir, may I have a little fat for flavor?” A little fat was added and pronounced low-fat. Sprouts and sprouted breads arose in favor. My wife, a vegan, then a vegetarian, and now a pescatarian, despises the sprouts, grumbling about them whenever they’re served to her on a salad or sandwich. Look out if it’s sprouted bread.

We’ve processed through other phases in the quest to be healthier. Plant-based and dairy-free cheeses arrived. Organic arose in favor. GMO free. Gluten-free. Kale jumped in there, making a brief splash on salads and as chips, and then, non-diary milks arose. They’d been around for a while, but suddenly things were being made of coconut milk, almond milk, soy milk, rice milk. Soon the ice cream aisle exploded with non-diary frozen desserts. Then —

Greek yogurt!

Now we’ve come to the latest. Gentle people, I give you the cauliflower.

Yes, it’s the miracle food, cauliflower. Eat it raw. Roast it in the oven and eat it instead of french fries (or roasted brussies, or roasted kale chips.) It’s great as a pizza crust or a creamy soup. Why should potatoes have all the glory? Have mashed cauliflowers instead of mashed potatoes.

I’m sure someone somewhere is working on cauliflower wine and cauliflower ice cream. What comes next? will it be the beets?

No, too obvious. Plant-based meats are making a run, but I think something else is on the way.

Solyent green, anyone?

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Dipping

I love dipping. Not snuff. No. Tried it once, didn’t like it. I like dipping cookies, doughnuts, and toast into tea, hot chocolate, or chocolate milk, and coffee. I also dip buffalo wings into sauces, and chips and crackers into dips. I’ve dipped things in beer, like pretzels, but I’ve not been impressed with the results. That’s life. And of course, I’ve skinny-dipped. I really liked doing that, especially the time I did it in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Sicily.

Some materials are better for dipping into coffee or tea than others. Doughnuts make for damn fine dipping, IMO. Today’s cookie, a gluten-free, vegan, GMO-free, locally baked chocolate ship affair, is a little dry. Not ideal, because that dryness contributes to the dipping drawback. Dipping a cookie into my coffee, I’m aware that some is crumbling into the coffee. This produces a bottom situation called dipping dredge. That’s the soaked stuff that remains when the beverage is almost gone.

I’m not a fan of the dipping dredge. However, I’m not one to leave coffee behind. Thus, all I can do is suck it up.

Literally.

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Flooftake

Flooftake (floofinition) – housepets eating or drinking something that a human was planning to eat or drink.

In use: “He made a mistake, leaving his sandwich and chips on a plate on the table while he went into the other room for his book. Upon returning, he found the cat and dog had flooftaken the sandwich, and were working on the chips.”

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No Use

Have you ever noticed that no matter how much you beg and plead for silence, once your stomach starts making noises, it’s just about impossible to get it to stop? You just have to wait for it to go back to sleep.

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Not Reminding You Not to Overeat

I thought I’d post a reminder to myself not to overeat, and share it with you, telling you not to overeat, if you’re celebrating Thanksgiving this Thursday. But I hear people think that’s body-shaming, so I’m going to refrain.

I was reminding myself not to overeat because it’s not good for my general physical disposition. As I’m in my sixties and know my family history on Dad’s side, cardiovascular problems challenge the males. Overeating doesn’t help, especially when it’s food that I enjoy, like cheese and buttery mashed potatoes, washed down with wine, followed by pie with ice cream and whip cream. Dad is still alive and doing well at eighty-five, but I lost a cousin to a heart-attack when he was forty-three, an uncle has had several bypasses and stents (starting in his mid-thirties), and Grandpa died of a massive coronary when he was sixty-five.

But I don’t want to body-shame anyone, especially myself, so I’m not going to remind you or me not to overeat this Thanksgiving. Of course, the one accused of body-shaming, Sarah Michelle Gellar, added a throwback lingerie shot of herself with her reminder. I’m not going to post such a photo, because I don’t have any decent shots of myself in lingerie. Something goes horribly awry with the camera whenever I take one. I don’t know why. I guess it’s fate.

I will also not mention how I grimace with guilt and sadness when I think of our Thanksgiving traditions of over-indulgence in a world and country where so many are starving and suffering, or that we’re giving thanks for being safe when so many are displaced by war and natural disasters.

Whether you overeat or not, or celebrate Thanksgiving or not, I hope you’re not one of those suffering, and you have a wonderful day today and Thursday, and hell, let’s go for broke and wish you a great life. I also hope that you don’t suffer from being body-shamed, and that you realize that you’re more than your body.

This has not been a public service announcement.

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Peas

He doesn’t like peas, and turns them down — of course. Who eats food that they don’t like, except children being forced to do so by parents, guardians, and caretakers? Or sick people being forced to eat something cuz it’s good for them? Or starving people who can’t be choosers? Okay, we’ll stipulate that exemptions exist. 

People often try to force them on them, as if some loop will suddenly change. He admits, only to himself, that, yes, it’s possible some loop will suddenly change, but to get to that point, he must eat peas, and he doesn’t wanna.

Others ask, why don’t you like peas? As if every decision stand on foundations of logic. As if he has a choice about everything. As if he fully understands the logic of why he doesn’t like peas, or he knows the fulcrum of the moment when he and peas parted ways — if they’d ever been together in the first place.

When asked about his refusal to eat peas, peas said, “Who?” And laughed.

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Floofvitational

Floofvitational (floofinition) – an exclusive event centered around housepets.

In use: “Dinner was a floofvitational as the cats, dogs, and bird jostled for their part of the evening repast. Having another human in, even if she was a date and potential mate, put a damper on this day’s floofvitational as the animal retreated from the stranger, except for Penny. Penny was always ready to eat and didn’t care who else was there, as long as he got his share.”

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A Weird Dream

My wife didn’t act like herself in this dream last night. Two things were most odd.

We were traveling and in a huge building. I wasn’t certain what the building was. Sometimes in the dream, I thought it was an airport terminal, but other times, I believed it was a mall, or an indoor military base. There were signs that it could have been any of those.

Whatever it was, the place was well-lit, clean, and modern. Wide halls with thick, white pillars dominated, with alcoves and shorter, narrower hallways off to either side. Wanting something to eat, my wife and I found some fake chicken (my wife is a vegetarian). It was in a green box. Acquiring it was only half of the problem, because we needed somewhere to cook it. We needed a microwave. I thought we could find one in a break room or snack bar, so we began searching.

But, for some reason, I opened the green box, laid out the fake chicken nuggets, and then attempted to eat one of the frozen, uncooked pieces. Repulsed, I spat it out in my hand and put it back on the back plate (where there were two rows of six pieces).

While that was going on, my wife took off. I didn’t know where she was, requiring me to look for her. I was carrying around the tray of fake chicken parts while I looked for her. There weren’t many other people in this dream, so I found it quickly and hastened to catch up. I reminded her that  we needed to cook the fake chicken parts. She seemed distracted, and after some back-and-forth, she told me she was looking for a car so we could drive somewhere.

We found a car and a microwave at the same time, but she went for the car. While she drives, when we’re together, I’m the primary driver. In this dream, though, she jumped in the driver’s seat. I think the car was a newer silver American sedan, like a Ford Fusion. We drove a short distance through the building, and then she stopped the car and left it.

Confused, I was asking her, “What are you doing? We can’t just leave the car here.”

She ignored me, proceeding to ramble around the aisles and alcoves. I followed, trying to make sense of what she was doing.

Dream ended.

I’m just not in control, am I?

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The Cleaver Greene Dream

Richard Roxburgh as Cleaver Greene of Rake guest-starred in my dream. We were on an asphalt path under tale trees. I was just arriving. Grinning at me, he said, “Hungry? Would you like a sandwich? We have cold cuts.”

He gestured. I followed the gesture with my eyes and saw a huge plate of assorted lunch meat. The pieces were rolled up like fat joints. The variety staggered me.

“We have cake, too,” Greene said with another motion. I saw a huge, multi-layered cake. Each layer was slender and appeared to be a different flavor, as did the frosting flavors, things that I assumed because of their colors, but the cake’s overall appearance was that it was moist, fancy, and large. 

“There’s ice cream, too,” Greene said, drawing my attention to an enormous bowl. Scoops of different colors filled it, and again I inferred they were different flavors.

“Wow,” I said, seeing the amounts and flavors. “Wow.”

“You can have cake and ice cream,” Greene said. “Or sandwiches, or anything you want, if you don’t want that. There’s an entire table of food over there.”

He was pointing. Looking, I saw that out on a green shaded by trees under a clear blue sky was a long table filled with bowls of salads and fruits, and plates of breads and cheeses.

Greene said, “We also have a Lithuanian cake.”

“What’s that?” I said, imagining a white layer cake featuring pearls.

“I don’t know,” Green said. “But we have it.”

The dream ended.

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Future Me

I read a recent article about how we see ourselves. The article’s essence was that a study showed that people could readily see how they’d changed, but didn’t think they would change in the future.

That’s an odd conclusion. Looking back on how and why I change, I can appreciate how the world changed, forcing me to change. Mentors, friends, and family members have died. Their influence remains, but it’s faded.

Sometimes, I think of it like dominoes. I’m in a long row that’s been set up to fall over when tapped, part of a pretty design. Matters that tap me over include my changing body. My hearing is damaged and my vision has lost its acuity. My metabolism has slowed, as has my physical energy, and my muscles are weaker. My joints are stiffer, and my athleticism and coordination have diminished. My sleeping patterns have changed. I endured illnesses and injuries which changed my trajectory. I’ve gained weight and developed gluten and dairy reactions.  I mostly bloat. Before I bloated, I didn’t understand what people meant when they said, “I feel bloated today.” Now I understand.

Our food chain has changed. What impact that has on me, I probably won’t ever know. I was introduced to new foods, and dishes from other cultures, and I was introduced to better quality food, increasing my awareness of what quality means, and how it influences me.

Technology has advanced, enabling me to hear more music, inviting me in as a witness to more amazing events and moments. I usually have a laptop or tablet nearby to keep me connected to others. I’ve never met many of the people who are in my circle of friendship. Science has advanced, giving me more to think about. Researchers, psychologists and sociologists have gained insights into how our bodies, societies, and civilizations function. Engaging TED Talks and blogs help socialize new information. Big data analytics keep expanding on what we know, or what might be going on.

Our society and government have changed. Events like 9/11 changed us. I make more effort to understand the world than I used to make. After traveling and living outside of the United States, I became more watchful about politics, equality, justice, and our environment. As our politics have changed, and groups like white supremacists and Nazis have grown, I’ve been forced to question what I know. Likewise, revelations of sexual assault, news of murders, and lies by politicians and others sharpen my desire to know the truth and understand.

I’ve read many more books since I was young. I’ve written books. Both activities encouraged thinking, and from the thinking has come change in my views, approaches, appreciation, and understanding.

My brain has changed, apparently from triggers built in at some genetic level. I’ve become more impatient. Lessons learned through betrayal, resentment, success, and failure have fostered changes to my behavior. I work on improving myself more than I used to, when improving myself meant working out or taking classes.

I’ve lost hair on my head. My hairline recedes and my baldness expands. My hair thins and grays. Meanwhile, the rest of me becomes hairier. With my aging and changes, I became more invisible to a larger segment of population.

Or maybe that’s just me and my perceptions. They can change.

I can extrapolate some ways that I’ll probably change. I think I’ll be more withdrawn, speaking less, and enjoying small talk less. I hope to be writing and publishing more, but that’s a hope that I’ve been nurturing for over twenty years. My future diet will probably be more limited, I’ll be less active, and pop culture will seem more alien. I’ve always disliked talking on the telephone, and avoid it when I can. I suspect it’ll be hard to get future me on the phone.

I’ve been fortunate that I’ve escaped being caught in disasters. That luck can change. It feels, sometimes, like the hazardous air from the wildfires of the last few years have changed me. Certainly, that smoke, combined with the blazing heat, increased my depression, depleted my energy, and sapped my will. It certainly changed my summer and expectations.

Then, there are the other people in my life. Their changes, illnesses, success and failure will change me, too. That’s one constant that’s not likely to change.

All these variables will cause changes in me. I don’t know what I’ll be like in the future, but I don’t think that who I am now is who I will be.

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