Snails

I don’t know why I’m picking on the French (and the Quebecois--I forgot about that poutine post) so much lately, but I can’t even fathom what a people must collectively have to go through to bring them to a point where they would be willing to suck a snail out of its shell—and then turn around and call it a delicacy. I have so little idea, in fact, that I had to ask Yahoo! One person’s response was that it’s no worse than eating clams, oysters, or lobsters. Right. Exactly. It’s not any worse than that. But nor is it any better, and considering that encrusted sea-garbage is just about the worst “edible” thing there is on this planet, that ranks snails as among the worst of the worst.

As much as I hate snails--both as an animal and as a food-- I did
really enjoy putting these snail shells on my back.

One time I was compelled to eat ribs. I have no idea whether or not the meat was any good because I was too overcome by the horror of tearing flesh from the bone. I know that some people talk about sucking marrow from bones, but I'm pretty sure this is just an urban legend, so I can only imagine—but would prefer not to—how much more horrific it would be to actually suck the meat from a chunk of coiled calcium that functions as a skeleton. Do people actually realize that snails are just slugs with shells? Has anyone seen a slug? Because they are vile and horrific beasts, and I used to devote large portions of my summers to hunting slugs with the sole purpose of then throwing them into the ocean.

I don’t know what snails eat, but I’m pretty sure it’s 90% gross slime, 10% garden plants. The snails in our aquarium live off of the algae that develops on the sides of the tank … which is just slime. And then they convert that slime into more slime so that they can transport themselves to richer slime reserves. They are disgusting. In my quest to rid the west coast of its slugs, I had the displeasure of accidentally stepping on a few a couple of times. That slime is the worst. It is sticky and slimy and doesn't come off, and while I have no idea how snails are prepared for eating, if something is not done to rid them of that slime, I can only imagine they are simultaneously lubricated down your throat, but also cling there like sickly, descended tonsils. And speaking of tonsils, if someone removed their tonsils and gave me the option of eating the raw tonsils or a perfectly prepared snail, I'm about 75% sure I would go for the tonsils. Although both are undoubtedly disgusting, only one of them would be a snail.

 Given that snails as a food are so commonly associated with France, it seems like a shame to not draw a correlation between the depravity of the Marquis de Sade and escargot. I don't know how many of you, like me, once had their interest piqued by Sade's extreme commitment to personal freedom and then proceeded to read an online summary of One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom only to be so utterly shocked and appalled that you could barely even make it through the summary, but that's how I feel about eating snails: the mere idea of it is so repulsive to me that I can't even begin to imagine actually trying the real thing. Through Sade's commitment to destroy and deprave the body so that he might be free (I have no idea what the Marquis de Sade was trying to do), he probably consumed a whole bunch of snails because few things in this world are a greater assault on the human body than that. There might be something interesting to say here (probably not), but I'm really just trying to get to Simone de Beauvoir's famous question, must we burn Sade? Her answer was a tepid no. A more crucial question might be: Il-faut manger les escargots? Our "no" must be far less tepid.

Snails are treated as a culinary specialty,
But sucking snail-meat from its shell
Is nothing more than a perverse bestiality:
If it doesn’t land you in jail, it will surely land you in hell.

So the next time a gentleman asks you to his chateau,
Remember the one hundred and twenty days of the Marquis de Sade:
A debauched, murderous orgy under a “personal freedom” façade.
The invitation, I’m afraid, you are obligated to forego
And give him instead a rousing escar-hellzno!

Remembrance of Tacos Lost

Remember that time I tried a taco and really liked it? Well, within a week of that positive experience I tried another taco and it was disgusting. I recently found pictures of the experience.

 This is what they looked like. Gross, right? Raw onion and cilantro?

And here's a picture of me eating one.

And here's another. I think I ate three in total.

Crème Fraîche

I really need someone to tell me whether or not crème fraîche
is good enough for me to crawl inside of. Because so far,
everything is pointing to yes, and I really want to clamber into a
large bowl of it and simultaneously swim and eat through it.
Please tell me if this is a reasonable reaction to what
seems to be a delicious food.

Readers! Alert! Can someone please tell me what crème fraîche is and whether or not I need it in my life? Because it sounds like I do. It sounds like it’s a thicker version of whipped cream, like sour cream but with less sour. Is it like a better form of Cool Whip? Is this what Cool Whip is based on? Wikipedia tells me that the EU regulates the ingredients of crème fraîche so that it can only be cream and bacterial culture. I love thinking about this branch of the EU. Do you think that this is what France’s role is in the EU? Regulating food ingredients? Because aside from rampant striking, strict food regulation seems to be France’s primary contribution to the world.

But I am serious about crème fraîche. I think this might be something for me. I think I might like to have it with fresh strawberries and maybe a sprinkling of sugar. Is this how it is eaten? Maybe with fresh or canned peaches? Is there something I'm missing? Why is this not whipped cream? Is crème fraîche to cream what yogurt is to milk? Because if so, count me in. That sounds delicious. But I am also afraid of what it might turn out to be. I am afraid it might be too much like sour cream or too... I don't know... French? Because French food can be really tricky. One minute you think it's all delicious pastries and sweets, like pain au chocolat or some delicious fruit-tart, but then you might be cruelly reminded of that gross frozen pea salad made with mayonnaise.

To err on the side of caution, I have labelled this post as "Food I Have Tried But Would Not Try Again," "Food I Will Eat," and "Food I Won't Eat," because at this point it could belong to any one of these three categories. I might have asked for someone to mail me a jar of crème fraîche, but with Canada Post's ludicrous new shipping rates, it would be an unfair financial burden to place on any of my valued readers. If I ever do try this potentially delicious/potentially disgusting new food, I will update the labels accordingly. I might even revamp this post so that it is somewhat relevant.

France fails in many ways--

like in their incessant will to strike--

But when it comes to what to pair with fraises, 

Sometimes even I feel like

I need to re-write my menu afresh

And introduce this mysterious crème fraîche

Poutine

The Quebec election is over. The Liberals have a majority and Pauline Marois is out. Perhaps now is the time for Quebec to repeal its repressive language laws so that “poutine” will be listed on the menu in both its French and its English name, “gross-sloppy-mess.” Just kidding. I don’t actually really have much of an issue with Quebec’s language laws—except when they insist that the menu listing for “pasta” in an Italian restaurant be changed to “pâtes,” which is unnecessary and tedious.

The term “two solitudes” has often been invoked to describe the troubled relationship between Canada and Quebec, and although in this sense it has been used descriptively, I also yearn for the day when it will be prescriptive and poutine will be served as two (three) solitudes: fries on one plate, a little dish of gravy on the side, and if you’re particularly depraved, a small heap of cheese curds on a separate plate. As it stands, poutine is disgusting and sloppy combination of all three ingredients that has more in common with the lump of rotting and mouldy hair that I pull out of my drain every month or so than it does with food. That said, poutine is actually my favourite national (I mean “Quebec nation”) dish—I just happen to enjoy mine plain, with the gravy and cheese curds on the side (read: in the garbage).
I'm not even sure what part of the poutine disgusts me the most: the gravy or the cheese curds. On one hand, I think it would be easier for me to eat fries just topped with cheese curds than it would be to eat fries covered in gravy. But there's something about those cheese curds--and I'm not sure if it's because they're called "curds"--that makes me wince. I guess they're find if you get the good ones that melt on top, but I feel like too many of them would just sit like firm, gelatinous lump. They look like the teeth of teratomas or something. 

I might think that poutine is disgusting, but I disparage it with the utmost respect for Quebec's rich culture.

It shouldn't be a surprise that I won't eat poutine,

And my reasons for which should by now be routine:

It's sloppy and gross and a waste of good fries

And I can't stand the sogginess all of that gravy implies.

But yet--in between my gags and my heaves--

I will still find the voice to beg: "Quebec, please don't leave!"

Food Thoughtz Review: These Nachos

Recently an avid reader and huge fan of Food Thoughtz asked whether I would review the take-out nachos that he was currently eating. I myself did not try the nachos and he was disappointed with them, claiming they were soggy.

When I do write a proper post on nachos, I will have nothing but good things to say because they are delicious and one of my favourite foods.

 After seeing this picture, it should be pretty obvious to any seasoned reader why I didn't eat these nachos. But aside from my personal distaste for leafy greens and whatever this salsa/water-tomato-chunk hybrid that red stuff is, there are a few other reasons why these nachos were a mistake.

1. You can never get nachos as take-out food because they have to be consumed almost immediately upon coming out of the oven. Of course they're best when hot, but most importantly, the cheese has to be freshly melted. There's nothing worse than melted cheese gone cold because it becomes almost like a whole new rubbery substance and it is disgusting. It also looks like these nachos either weren't baked long enough in the oven (some of the cheese should be a golden brown), or worse yet, that they weren't baked in an oven at all but were cooked in a microwave (which I think probably also contributes to the sogginess, although I'm not sure how because I have no idea how a microwave works).

2. If you have to have your nachos with toppings other than plain cheddar cheese (or, ideally Kraft Tex-Mex, although that is so expensive that I can't imagine a person in a financially stable enough position to afford it)--and I would advise that you don't--then you definitely can't get take-out nachos because of course they will only get soggier the longer they sit. That said, it was really irresponsible for the restaurant in question to put such moist tomato/salsa on the chips before baking them. Diced tomatoes that have retained some semblance of form, green onions, green peppers, black olives, jalapeno peppers--fine. I wouldn't eat that, but I can understand why someone would because nachos with those toppings smell friggin' delicious when they come out. But the key is that while all of these toppings have a fairly high water percentage, all of them are solid enough to not totally ruin the chips.

3. Is this salsa? Because this isn't what salsa should look like to me--partly if not mainly because salsa should always be served on the side.

4. These chips look like they might have been oily.

Asparagus

Tonight my roommate cooked asparagus for dinner and it smelled like one thousand cats had just peed everywhere. Of asparagus, Proust once said: "[It] transforms my chamber-pot into a flask of perfume." Proust also spent nearly his entire life in a cork-lined room.

I have hated asparagus for as long as I can remember. Eating it always reminded me of eating a slimy, plump, green worm bloated with urine. The worst is when it is slightly over cooked and so it’s too soft to cut or bite through cleanly, so you end up having to tear through a bunch of stringy, wet asparagus strands. The only way I could choke it down was by slathering it in butter first. I also don't think it's healthy to eat a food that so drastically alters your urine so quickly.

A little known fact about me (or perhaps very well known, depending on who is reading this) is that I once worked on a farm harvesting asparagus. It was one of the best times of my life and is, I’m sure, directly responsible for why my back now looks like a well-loved leather purse. Although I hate asparagus, it was a pretty fun vegetable to harvest, and one time I even tried it raw (word to the wise: asparagus is way better when consumed raw because it tastes almost identical to garden peas, although I am not sure if it only tastes like this when freshly sliced from the ground). I especially liked harvesting it because I always felt like I was thwarting its will to live by constantly cutting it down.

While I worked on the farm I always thought I was engaging in a slightly unethical activity by bringing asparagus to the masses, as well as encouraging my own family's consumption by bringing home free second-rate asparagus. That summer taught me a lot about myself--namely that I am willing to do just about anything for a very nominal amount of money.

Our bodies often warn us that a food should disgust us

By wreaking havoc on our digestive functions.

What is it about the asparagus

That so grossly alters our renal productions?

So how is it that one continues to devour with glee

A vegetable that so violently alters the smell of our pee?

Kürtőskalács

I got a lot of heat for my last post on Hungarian food, but I’m hoping that this time around there won’t be so many hurt feelings because I have nothing but good things to say about kürtőskalács. Kürtőskalács is the sweetbread of my dreams. Strips of bread are wrapped around a cylinder, painted with butter (the best kind of paint), rolled in sugar, and then roasted over coals. The sugar caramelizes into a kind of crust, and then some sort of topping is added to it, like crushed walnuts (gross) or cinnamon (delish) or coconut (grossest).

It is actually a dream of mine that one day I will be cast on some sort of game show in which you have to eat
your way out of something, and that this will be the something that I have to eat my way out of.

 This is such a Fall Fair food, and I really wish that it had accompanied the 100,000 Hungarians that rolled into Canada following 1956. (Speaking of Hungarian-Canadians: did you know that Alanis Morissette, William Shatner, and Elvis Stojko are all Hungarian-Canadians?) Can't you just picture yourself strolling the fair grounds at Rock Creek eating one of these things? It would be a way better addition to the fair-fare than Rotary's kettle corn, which is awful and I hate it. Right? There's something about these tubes of sweetened bread--they were made to be put in those cellphane bags and to be sold at an inflated price!

According to Wikipedia—and by the way, you have to read the entry because whoever wrote it really, really cares about this tube-cake—kürtőskalács was popular among the Hungarian nobility, which is really strange because its design demands a kind of playful consumption that totally negates any sort of refinement of the aristocracy. Like putting your arm through it. Or holding one end in your mouth and then unraveling it and trying to stuff the entire strand into your mouth. Or crumpling one end of the cylinder and then putting it in your mouth so it looks like a horn. It's also hard for me to believe that these were ever the food of the aristocracy because now I can't think about them without thinking about Rock Creek.

These are the only Hungarian aristocrats I am aware of. Rakoczi is obviously everyone's fav, but between Baroness
Orczy (perhaps better known to you as Emma Magdolna Rozália Mária Jozefa Borbála "Emmuska" Orczy de Orczi),
author of "The Scarlet Pimpernel," and Erzsébet Báthory, mass murderer and blood enthusiast, I'm not sure which
one is worse. One thing is for sure: they all enjoyed kürtőskalács (except Báthory, who dined solely
on the blood of virgins).

It's worth pointing out that these chimney cakes are not exclusive to Hungary, but appear to be a popular treat in many places throughout Central and and Eastern Europe. I wonder what that means. I wonder what the hollowness symbolizes. Do you think that they have a gaping void where everyone else has a soul? Do you think that the hollow kürtőskalács is an emptiness that echoes back our own sadness? Do you think that if you long long enough into an abyss, the abyss looks back at you? Do you think the breaded coils signify that we are trapped in a meaningless and empty world, doomed to repeat itself over and over again, just as the sweetened dough wraps around the ever turning spindle? Do the coals signify the ever-burning fires of hell? Does the sugar coating represent the way that we deceive ourselves from recognizing the emptiness that resides inside us all? Do you think that the reason Alanis Morissette's mouth is so big is in order to fit around the circumference of a kürtőskalács? Do you think she will use it as a horn from which issues forth the eternal note of sadness?

It's weird that I am so into these chimney cakes because I've actually only ever had one. I bought it on a whim during a pub crawl of the seedy bars in all three of the Hungarian train stations. A man was walking up and down wearing a sandwich board advertising kürtőskalács, and although his sign put the idea in my head, these things look so good that they pretty much sell themselves.

I won't forgive Hungary for its cold-fruit-soup

But their losses they have managed to recoup

For make no mistake:

This Hungarian chimney takes the cake.

No longer reserved for the aristocracy—
From their gnarled, inbred grasp we snatch
The highly-coveted and deliciously-tubular kürtőskalács—
And now Hungary is a true democracy.