The Lie of Delicacies

If you think the picture above is that of a freshly mutilated rat carcass...you're wrong. It's called Kimchi and it's a delicacy.

Why is it a delicacy? Because someone said so.

How do you make this scrumptious meal? Basically bury a cabbage with chili powder for a few months so it ferments. Dig it up after a month or so...(hell...why not wait a year)slop it on a plate and enjoy.

The god of the internet "Wikipedia" proclaims Kimchi was devised as a way to keep vegetables through the winter.

Bull.

The real story goes like this:

3000 years ago Mr. Kim came home from a long day at work. Mrs. Kim felt underappreciated because Mr. Kim sat on his fat butt playing on his new iPhone (or comparable technological device of that era) and played Angry Birds.

So, Mrs. Kim gave Mr. Kim's steak to the dog and made him some cabbage stew.

Mr. Kim thought it sucked, but in an effort not to offend his wife, buried it in the back yard. Only...Mrs. Kim found it while planting spring flowers 6 months later.

Mr. Kim came home that night to a "grateful" wife who had prepared a "delicacy" for him. He choked it down but figured it was a delicacy, so it MUST be good.

The next day he told all his friends, who asked their wives for more "delicacies" in the home. They, in turn, called Mrs. Kim for the recipe and the rest is history.

Now, poor koreans it this stuff three times a day.

This a 1000 Year Egg from China, or the Cadbury Creme Egg from Hell. And don't worry...it's not really 1000 years old. It's only like 6 months and they, too, are a "delicacy."

This story, according to the Gospel of Reese's Cup of Dr. Pepper, goes like this.

Some emperial cook got lazy with the duck eggs and accidentally put one in that was a few months old. The emperor gets pissed and wants to know what the hell the poop flavored rubber was in his salad.

The cook, scared for his life replies, "a delicacy." And in response the emperor replies, "Bring me a dozen more and feed them to my friends and family."

But don't think I'm only picking on Asian cuisine (I love Orange Chicken as much as the next guy). Every culture has their own "delicacies."

Russians have FAT JELLO or Holodetz.

Thanks for trying to make this tasty morsel look good with the christmas tree on top, but we still know that this is really just fat and gelatin mixed up.

And blood sausage...

which looks like the diseased lower bowel of a zombie was devised by european governments as a way to test biological warfare on its own citizens.

Some websites proclaim "admittedly not for everyone." No kidding. It's actually not for ANYONE. God is in Heaven hurling right now from that picture.

And all these are eaten because someone proclaimed it was a "delicacy."

I've considered having my dog poop on a piece of lettuce and sprinkling some bird urine and a bat eyeball and sending it to the Iranian government as an american delicacy and peace offering. The only thing that stops me is that AMERICANS will believe it is an American Delicacy and we'll be seeing it in combo meals at Wendy's...and some things shouldn't be supersized.

Dead Possums and Steak

One of the most disturbing memories I have is when I was about 5 years old in east Tennessee. While visiting my cousins we traveled up the dirt road to see THEIR cousins who were very used to a backwoods lifestyle. One of the little boys showed me a shed where they were "smokin' 'possums."

Upon opening the door a dozen or so skinned opposums hung from their tails while a harsh, smokey smell billowed out from the door. The trauma to my young mind has transformed this into the highest form of hyperbole so that in my mind I saw this:

Tangent--When I was seven my dad once forced me to drink the milk from my cereal bowl. He didn't want me to waste it. Now, I'd probably done this a hundred times before, but this particular time I didn't feel like it.

I can't remember the cereal, but I remember feeling the little, soggy chunks going down my throat and and felt like puking through the tears. To this day, the thought of drinking cereal milk nearly makes me vomit--end tangent.

Secondary tangent--There are no soggy cereal picture on the internet! That's in-freaking-credible.End Tangent

Two things happened after seeing, what I now refer to as, Satan's Gerbil Cage. First, Opposums exceeded Sharks as my most frightening animal (and the margin is not small), and I vowed I would never eat a dead animal.

Silly me. What a crappy life that would have been.

Years later I found out that KFC serves Dead Chickens! Luckily, the secret recipe of the 11 herbs and spices pays respects to the dead bird in the same way the wise men brought frankencense and myrrh were used to pay respects to baby jesus.

Understandably, there is some debate as two whether "chickens" are actually killed at all. Some believe that the Chicken Farmers raise chickens or grow a cyborg hybrid much like humans in The Matrix.

The idea of consuming a dead animal can convert many to Crunchies (vegetarians) and the brutality of tearing Big Bird's flesh with your teeth is often used to convert T-Rex's (meat-eaters/men) to vegetarianism.

My young son's Crunchie mother (recalling my Satan's Gerbil Cage story, no doubt) tried to scare him by telling him that the steak she had made for me was actually dead cow. Curiosity won out and he tried it anyway.

As I drove home that night, I wondered if my son would experience the trauma that I had as a child. Would he fear the cow above all of God's creations?

I opened the door, and the silence seemed to confirm the worst. Then he came running to the door...

"Daddy! Daddy! I ate dead cow and I loved it!"

Crisis averted.

Manifest Destiny

Russians have a nifty little food called Pelmeni. If you're one of those people who like to debate how to correctly spell foreign words in an english alphabet then, a) I feel sorry for you, and b) I'm right so get over it.

Pelmeni is basically ravioli with a breaded outside, instead of a pasta outside. Like Ravioli, Russians typically boil it. Once it's boiled they'll normally put something akin to sour cream on it. I know it sounds weird. Even though I was a waiter I never accomplished the feat of making food sound good.

Tangent--My description for the seafood enchilada at the restaurant where I worked was "imitation crab and cheese, rolled in a floppy tortilla, drenched in enchilada sauce." I only ever had one group of people tell me it sounded good and even that was shocking.--end of tangent

So...Pelmeni. It isn't as bad as it sounds even if it DOES feels like eating a wet sock. But being American, my colleagues and I did what Americans do best--we took something another culture takes pride in, added oil, fried it, melted cheese on it and dipped it in ketchup.

Needless to say it was much better than the wet sock version. Even Russians, who initially criticized us for committing a culinary rape of their cuisine, generally liked our version better.

What's the point of this blog?

At time when all Americans are admitting that our leaders lack the basic ability to balance a checkbook or the restraint to go out and buy the cute pair of trillion dollar shoes in the window, I feel it's important to reflect on what makes us great.

To the point...

People from other cultures often come to America and tell us that the Italian/Mexican/Indian food we serve in the States is not authentic to their country.

Well...there's a reason for that.

Example, I may not be able to go do downtown Tijuana and buy a Chalupa or a Gordito, but I'll put them up against a street taco any day.

And Italian Soda? Please. We have Dr Pepper. Why am I going to waste time stirring club soda and syrup together when God has already done that for me in an ice cold, maroon aluminum can?

Indian food? Well...we did our best.

English food? Unfortunately, frying things in lard can only make them so much better.

So, while our country sits on the brink of economic disaster, take pride in the fact that we can still take what other cultures love and fry it.

Chocolate and Anti Oxygen

I was going to start this entry by saying that “when I was a kid Christmas was one of my favorite times of the year,” but then I realized how stupid this was. You never hear people say, “when I was a kid Flag Day was one of my favorites days of the year.” Or, “You know what? I get so nostalgic on Beverage Day.”

Of course Christmas is everyone’s favorite holiday. Even those that don’t celebrate wish they do. It makes everyone think of giving (unless you’re under 12 then you think about getting.)

As a kid, our church would have fund raisers. They would make chocolate covered cherries and sell them. The best part was that the chocolate was purchased in ginormous blocks wrapped in brown paper. You had to break chunks off and melt it down for the cherries.
Adults must have assumed the frozen chocolate was safe from kids since it was so hard to break.

Fools.

I had my own personal, brown-handled ice pick. My mom would open the freezer to large portions of chocolate missing and the chocolate that was left was pockmarked with hundreds of furious holes from my ice pick. (As a side note, it doesn’t work to hide chocolate chunks under your pillow for extended periods of time.)

Little did I know, that my hard work not only benefited my palate at the time of the thievery, but my long-term health! I guess chocolate contains something called…anti oxygen—which totally screws up that whole I’m-so-hungry-I’m-going-to-inhale-that-chocolate line.

This is hardly new information. Many, less reputable and less entertaining, websites have already dispersed this information to the paying masses.

One website (www.thehealthychocolate.com) sells a brand of Chocolate with an exotic name that can’t be pronounced—Xocai. They even put a little pigtail on the “C” so as to reassure you that this is not your typical chocolate.

Let’s examine some of their information:

Nearly all chocolate that is advertised as ‘Healthy Chocolate’ is heat pressed. [This] destroys 75%-80% of the vital nutrients…taking the healthy right out of it.

So…lesson one. Don’t iron your damn chocolate. I’ve never run into anyone that does this, but it sounds ingenious…so thanks for the warning against it. As a side note it says they’ve removed wax, refined sugars, dairy and trans fats. So, while the healthy may be in their chocolate you already know the “good” was taken out.

Xocai combines…cocao from the Ivory Coast in Africa with the acai berry from the Amazon.
Stop. I realize that I’m American, so thanks for clarifying that the Ivory Coast is in Africa. But unless the Cadbury Company is now in Africa, you’re not doing a wonderful job selling your product. When I hear “Africa” my mind does not automatically think “YUMMY CHOCOLATE.” At best you might get me considering poking termite towers with blades of licorice, or stalking Hershey bars through the grasslands.

The truth, my eager young learners, is that ALL chocolate is good for you. Unless it’s that dark crap they’ve been trying to pawn off as candy for years. Dark chocolate is mutated milk chocolate that was created in Nevada after nuclear testing and now waits patiently in the desert highlands for unsuspecting trailer trash to break down so it can infect humanity.

So this Christmas, if you’re feeling a little under the weather, don’t do something stupid, like get a flu shot. Steal your mom’s chocolate and eat until you pass out. (Passing out means that the chocolate has taken over your immune system so that you can get rest.)

So...what the hell is this? I go to PF Changs to celebrate with Mrs. Reese's Cup and after my delicious meal of MSG and dead chicken covered in sweet sugary glaze, the waiter puts this crap on my table.

"uh...excuse me."
"Yes, sir?"
"What is that?"
"What is what?"
"There's a tree growing out of my cheesecake."
"Oh. That's garnish."
"Why is garnish growing out of my cheesecake?"
"It's not to eat. It's to make it look better."

Look better? It's cheesecake. Making it look better is like telling Odette Yustman she needs to powder her nose before you kiss goodnight, or thinking I'd be more willing to take a hundred dollar bill because you put a High School Musical sticker on it.

If I wanted vegetables I'd have ordered a freaking salad. I want sugar, sweetner, syrup and graham cracker crust. I don't want some arrogant chef planting a garnish garden in my cheesecake.

Anyway. It was dang good.

ANOTHER reason fruit is evil.

Mostly I have no problem with fruit. One of my all-time favorite foods is passion fruit skittles and cherry starbursts. Also, pineapple isn't bad. Pineapples are like that girl in high school that tries to set a record and kiss every guy on the basketball team--everyone likes them, but they give you canker sores.

But mostly fruits are a lesser evil version of vegetables. I will occasionally share the different reasons why fruits and vegetables are evil and must be avoided.

Today's reason:

Fruit is violent.

Mrs. Reese's Cup of Dr. Pepper called and asked to come help pick pears for some god-forsaken canning project in which she is participating all day Saturday. Well, all day, or long enough to keep me from watching the Tennessee-Florida game.

Of course I agreed. I am on a short leash. Short enough that I admit it freely and with a small amount of fear that she will read this post.

The mom-in-law picked me up and was supposed to take me home so I could change from my designer Mervyn's/Ebay attire into a more appropriate Salvation Army ensamble.

Instead she carts me straight to the "orchard" wear her boyfriend awaits to galavant around the town in wild wanderings of middle-aged-divorced romance, with a potential nightcap at Cracker Barrel if all goes well.

So I pull up to the "orchard", which turns out to be an old man's back yard. The kids are eating rotten pears and dirt and the Mrs is on the top rung of a 300 year old ladder held together by staples.

I get what appears to be a lacrosse net made from barbed-wire on a ten foot broom handle. It may have been one of the murder weapons used in the lastest Friday the 13 movie when that "pineapple" girl, mentioned above, sets her record.

I reach up and pluck two pears.

Easy Peasy.

Wrong. Immedidately I am carpet-bombed by a dozen overly-ripe orbs. Luckily, only my hand and custom Wal-Mart loafers received the kiss of splattered death.

I mutter a curse word under my breath and briefly catch criticizing look from the 1 year old.

I go into "pear-picking mode". Okay stop.

Tangent:

Males will occasionally pretend that the task they are attempting to complete is vital to rescuing a beautiful woman, achieving world-renown, or simply saving the world. The reason we do this is to add meaning to an otherwise menial task to help us focus.

In this case, I was Earl Murgle, PhD. Biologist to the stars and advisor to the President and King of Zanzibar. Aliens had infested the national pear orchards, and only I could save the world--and a beautiful dame perched on a treacherous ladder. Thus, "Pear Picking Mode."

End of Tangent

I reached up slowly to snag a large green monster dangling from limbs. I quickly snag it, but immediately see my error. Two large, brown and saucy pears plummet toward me. I step back and the goo from the first carpet-bombing causes me to slip.

Slam.

A third, previously unseen goo-ball knocks me on the noggin. The curse word isn't muttered. The one year old isn't impressed. The world ends and the dame I was supposed to save ends up giving me a dirty look the whole ride home.

Vegan Propaganda

Have any of you ever noticed that in the myriad of dinosaur cartoons that the only dinosaurs smart enough to talk are the ones who only eat plants? The meat-eaters prance mindlessly around head-butting rocks as they spit and growl at the plant eaters.

Sure you get the token meat-eater who "befriends" the all-knowing lardo leaf-eater. He might throw in a few comments, but he gets patronized by the whiny dino-vegetarians. We watch an hour and a half of the veggie group search for green food, but the meat eater NEVER gets to eat.

I'm convinced this is propaganda by the Vegan movement to brainwash us.

For once I'd love the token tyranosaurus to say, "You know what? Screw you guys. All you do is treat me like crap because I like meat. So you know what? Next time we all cuddle together to block out the cold, I'm going to use your leg as a chew toy. And you know what else? You weigh 10 freaking tons! Maybe if you'd slow down on the salad we wouldn't have to cross the Volcano fields for the freaing Green Valley, you selfish punk."