I wrote recently about my snobby food ‘tude. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression from that essay, I’m still a red-blooded guy and there are many foods I am not a snob about. Here are a few.
Deviled Eggs. You really have to screw something up in the recipe for me to dislike your deviled eggs. First of all, it’s an egg- one of my all time favorite foods. I don’t get crazy about which recipe is best, or if it has too much of this or that in it. At parties I just try not to eat 8 of the suckers. By the way, are they supposed to be eaten in pairs? After all one is really just a half an egg… hmmmmm…
Pie Crust. A perfect crust is supposed to be flaky and tender. It should crumble under your fork before the damn thing even touches it. The perfect pie crust compliments it’s filling, whispering sweet nothings to it in french. And I do appreciate a great pie crust. When one cradles my pie selection to it’s bosom like a loving mother I catch on. BUT-
If it’s doughy, or salty, or crumbly, or chewy – guess what? Not a deal breaker. I just do what you do, I appreciate the primary role of the crust; to keep the filling intact long enough for me to shove it into my face. When I’m visiting your house I can nonchalantly feed the outer crust to your dog. Boom, clean plate!
Soup. I love all kinds of soup and once again, you really have to screw something up for me to avoid your soup. Cream based, stock based, Asian style, spicy, citrusy, thin, chunky… Just bring it to me hot please and give me a large spoon. This is serious eating and I’ll probably want seconds.
Bread. Rye, pumpernickel, white, wheat, sweet, savory, plain, with honey, with fruit, with nuts… Every bread recipe I read always ends with this sentence (in my head): “Ooh, I have to try making that one!” My only request is that it not be too heavy. I never know what to do with slices that weigh 12 ounces each.
I’m really not a picky eater and I never was. I’m just a lot more judicious in selecting what foods are allowed to fuel up my body. Gone are the days when I could jam food into my face and then run back outside to play. Now I’m the guy standing 4 steps away from the buffet table – balancing his tiny plate, cocktail fork pointing northward like a compass needle, making an aerial survey of the tabletop landscape below. Hmmmm, where will my next sixty calories come from? ~TH~