Food Thoughtz Update: Alcohol

Well, everyone. I have finally decided to expand the scope of Food Thoughtz to include alcohol. The series will probably be called "Drink Thoughtz," or something equally unimaginative. I live in a house with a roommate, and these shelves are a big part of our living space and our lives:

Over the past two years, I've really gotten into the world of cocktails—which has in part been encouraged by this unruly liquor collection, but also by Midge Deak's relatively new found interest in cocktails (her favourite drink is something I call the "Midge Deak" and consists of vodka and plain tap water).

The series will likely run the gambit of alcohol, including beers, ciders, coolers, and hard alcohol. Perhaps wine sometimes too, but I am not really into wine unless it's cut with soda. You might be wondering what authority I have to pass judgement on different kinds of alcohol. The answer is precisely none, which is the same level of authority I exercise when it comes to food.

**Update** The famed Midge Deak has recommended the series be called "Booze Thoughtz," and I agree.

Brains

Distinguishing between what parts of an animal you will eat and what parts you won't is, I guess, a pretty arbitrary decision. But I'll be damned if anyone ever convinces me that eating a brain is an acceptable meal. I am sorry to all you brain-eaters out there, but that is disgusting. That is where thoughtz live. In the brain. They are created and live there. Even in animals. I don't think we should be eating animal thoughts.

Did you know that what of the prion diseases associated with eating brains is Fatal Familial Insomnia? It's a thing. Look it up. Symptoms include "progressively worsening insomnia," but the science is still out as to whether this is a symptom of the disease or just because you're so horrified with yourself that you just ate a brain and now you will never be able to sleep again because you're haunted by your own depravity.

The picture quality is terrible and I can't even be bothered.

Aside from how deeply disturbing I find brain-consumption, I also don't think I would like the look, texture, or smell of a brain. I have no idea how they're typically prepared (although I guess it would depend on the culinary culture), but I always imagine just a full brain, boiled, and sitting on a plate as a steaming mass, oozing some liquid (probably liquid thoughts) onto a plate. Maybe smelling like damp, old sports equipment? I don't know why, that's just what pops into my brain.

Brains are where our thoughtz live.

I think eating them is really unattractive. 

Frankenberry Cereal

I've been lusting after a box of Frankenberry cereal ever since I can remember. There were always advertisements for it on American TV channels, but as far as I could tell, the cereal was either never sold in Canada or my mum refused to buy it for me (which seems somewhat unlikely, considering the amount of Lucky Charms I used to eat).

But tonight all of my wildest dreams came true and I bought a box of Frankenberry cereal that was on-sale at Metro. This, along with Count Chocula (another cereal that seemed to only be available to American audiences, but one that admittedly never appealed to me in the same way as Frankenberry), are back for a limited time, presumably coinciding with Halloween. These were part of a monster-themed collection of breakfast cereals produced by General Mills in the 1970s.  Others in the series include Boo-Berry and Fruity Yummy Mummy, both of which I would really like to try, but which I think have been discontinued even though they were briefly revived in 2013.

You can see here that there are about 3 marshmallows
to a bowl of cereal. Pathetic, but also kind of welcome
because the marshmallows are not very good.

 Despite what any sane-minded individual would think approaching this cereal, Frankberries are actually delicious. They taste really similar to Cap'n Crunch's Crunch Berries (also, as far as I know, not available in Canada, but one of my favourites). There are marshmallow bits in there, but I can't figure out why because the cereal-to-marshmallow ratio is terrible.

I guess if this cereal was readily available all of the time, I probably wouldn't eat it--at least not very often. It's good, but it's not as good as Lucky Charms or even Honeycomb or Golden Grahams. It's still a pretty good children's cereal. I like how sweet it is because even though it's good, it's too sweet to have more than one bowl at a time, which is always the problem I have with Lucky Charms. I'm really glad I went for it tonight though, because wanting to try this cereal is something that has been bothering me since I was about four years old, and now I can finally put that to rest.

Even though Count Chocula doesn't really appeal to me (I've never been too crazy about chocolatey cereals, but would definitely still eat them if provided for free), I think I will probably pick up a box if it becomes available.

So, that's it. That's my experience of eating Frankenberry cereal. It was a really solid cereal experience.

Oh. It might also be worth mentioning that when Frankenberry first hit store shelves in 1972, it contained a kind of pink dye that couldn't be broken down by a human body, so it turned poos pink. (Note: the "Embarrassing After Effects" tag refers to this).

Also, in all seriousness, has anyone ever completed any of the puzzles/games on the back of cereal boxes by actually filling in the blanks with pen? Because I never did. I always completed the mazes or matching puzzles, but I never actually wrote on the box. I wondered about this again because of the activity on the back of the Frankenberry box, which, let me just say, is a pretty lame activity for a box of cereal that is only released once a year.

As a child, the cereals I dreamed of were always American

The Canadian counterparts paled by comparison.

Several years later, my dream has come true:

I have an entire box of Frankenberry to munch through!

Mould

Yesterday I drank a smoothie knowing full well that a fair portion of it was mould. I had so many berries in my fridge, and they’re so hard to keep—especially blackberries—but I didn’t want to throw them out, so I just blended them up in a smoothie. This isn’t the first time I’ve done it. I figure that mould can’t really be that bad for you, right? But after I had it I felt kind of sick, and I wasn’t able to figure out if it was because I had ingested too much mould (which honestly seems unlikely because I live in Toronto and this whole city is full of mould), or if just thinking about eating that mould made me think I was sick, or if it’s because I recently challenged myself to eat the largest cauliflower in the world.

Here's the smoothie that I ate that
might have been mouldy.

But mould really is disgusting, and I don’t want to eat it anymore. It's a revolting terror. It just grows on things. It is so unwelcome. It just shows up. And the worst part isn't even that you have to throw out whatever food it has colonized; the worst part is that it is such a horrifying thing to ever have to encounter. Luckily I usually keep tabs on what I have and what needs to be eaten, but there is nothing worse than enjoying a basket of berries, only to discover about half way through that they're infested with mould.

Here's a picture of me with a mould cap. My sister says that I
look like the Phantom of the Opera. Can you imagine what a
terrible story that would be? If his face was so horrific that covering
it with mould would actually be an improvement?

I don't have much else to say about mould. No one likes it. No one wants to eat it (unless it's cheese, but still... cheese with visible mould on it is an abomination). Although, maybe I do have one more thing to say about it. A lot has been posted about how McDonalds' burgers and fries don't seem to mould (this has been debunked several times), and how this is a sign that McDonalds' food isn't "real" food. But if mould is the only valid indicator of what is real food and what isn't, then I don't want to have any part of real food. Why won't McDonalds' burgers mould? Because they're better than all other foods that will. Obviously those tiny and delicious McDonalds burgers are an improvement on all those other mouldy foods. The future is here, and it isn't mouldy.

I will never understand why food has such a hard time to uphold

Its natural state and will inevitably start to grow mould.

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?

Broccoli

Broccoli is often the quintessential food that picky children hate to the point of becoming a cliché. So maybe it’s a bit weird or unexpected that I like broccoli, but I really do, and I can’t recall ever having a problem with it.

Just picked up these crowns today at Sobey's.  Lately I've had really terrible luck with broccoli in Toronto and I have
been forced to throw a lot of it out.  I have really high hopes for these ones, though.  They look absolutely perfect,
and I love when grocery stores sell them without too much stem.

 But not all broccoli is created equally.  In order to be worth eating, broccoli should be prepared in a specific manner.  Ideally it should be steamed, but it should always be undercooked—there are few things in this world worse than mushy broccoli.  Although perfectly acceptable plain, it’s value is really augmented by the addition of either butter, or better yet, grated cheddar cheese or cheese sauce.  It also pairs well with cauliflower and carrots, as shown below:

Broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots: cooked to perfection and ready for consumption.

You can notice in the above photos that I am always careful to ensure that each piece of broccoli that I cut up is a tree unto itself.  Sometimes you have to sacrifice the integrity of a tree if it is simply too large, but as a general rule I like to maintain this structure.  In fact, I cannot abide halved trees or a crown that has been recklessly cut up.

It is also worth mentioning at this point in time that broccoli can also be consumed raw, and that is perfectly fine, although rarely preferable.  Raw broccoli almost stings your mouth, so it's always recommended to cook broccoli if possible.  Of course, some events lend themselves better to raw broccoli, such as casual get-togethers in which people nibble rather than feast.  Although, it is generally ill-advised to cook broccoli for a dinner anyway because it's difficult to gauge how another person likes their broccoli cooked.

There are, however, two major concerns that must be voiced in any broccoli review.  The first is that cooking broccoli produces a horrific odor, and if you live with another person, you should be careful to cook your broccoli only when that person is already at home, or when you can be absolutely certain that they will not be returning for quite some time.  Few things in this world are more cruel than having someone come home to a house that reeks of recently-cooked broccoli.  The second concern is that selecting a perfect crown of broccoli is no easy task.  Often grocery stores are left with an abysmal selection of broccoli.  Either the flowers have started to yellow (or worse yet, brown), or the stems have turned rubbery or have gone white and hard inside.  In recent months I have become increasingly vigilant about the quality of broccoli I buy because I am convinced that last winter I ate some broccoli that had gone bad and suffered mild food poisoning as a result.  The best broccoli will have a mix of rich, forest green colouring and a more vibrant bright green.  The flowers will also be tightly packed and probably quite small.  You should be wary of a crown if the flowers are starting to pull apart, and avoid it at all costs if there is any sign of yellowing/browning.

This picture perhaps better captures how I insist that my broccoli be prepared for cooking.  Although it looks like
there is some yellowing on the flowers, I can assure you that is due only to the poor quality of my phone.

Despite some dangerous pitfalls, broccoli remains one of my favourite all-season vegetables.  Unlike peas and green beans—which are my favourites—it is usually possible to get high-quality broccoli at any time of the year, making it one of the most versatile vegetables.  It is our extreme good fortune that quality carrots and cauliflower are two other vegetables that can often be purchased during any season.

Did you know that broccoli is cousin to the cabbage?


For me, such knowledge should cause long-lasting diet-restricting damage.
And yet, I continue to eat this little cabbage-tree—
Less out of necessity and more just for glee.
You don’t always have to love the family you wed into:
Ignore the blood line and slice that broccoli head in two,
Slather it with butter or grated cheddar cheese,
Because sometimes it is better to not see the forest for the broccoli-trees.

The Future is Now

Today I learned what a gif is and how to make one.  I also learned about the lovestruck feature in PhotoBooth.  Clearly I am not very good at making gifs, but sometimes the first step towards success is failure.

The Salad

I hate salads. There is no such thing as a salad that I might like. There are no varying gradations of acceptable salads. I hate all of them equally (except pasta salad. I hate that salad the most. More below). I hate everything about them. I hate hearing my mum say, "Mary, can you make the salad?" I hate watching Mary (it's always Mary) make the salad. I hate seeing the salad(s) brought out to the dinner table. I hate watching people serve salad with those archaic tools (just use tongs already! This should not be a two-hand affair!). I hate watching people move their lettuce around the plate to sop up the last bits of dressing. I hate seeing the leftover dressing in the fridge because it makes me feel like I live in a laboratory that's in the business of testing unhealthy stool samples.

There are so many different kinds of salad that it's almost useless to collect them all under the blanket term "salad." What would it mean for someone to tell you that they're having salad for dinner? It wouldn't mean anything. They might be eating any disgusting combination of food! Aside from being a grab-bag of mixed ingredients, salads don't really have that much in common. Of course there are the lettuce (or other leafy greens)-based salads, but then there are all those other kinds of salads. Like bean salads. Or cold pasta salads. Or cold, slimy, Oriental noodle salad. Or potato salad. "Salad" is just an arbitrary term thrown around recklessly and attached to any collection of solid food (ie. not a soup) that is served in a bowl. If these people were half as creative at coming up for names as they are in creating revolting culinary concoctions, I wouldn't be in the position of trying to tackle all of the varying kinds of salad in one rambling post. Sometimes I wonder if anyone cares about my welfare at all.

Before I get into all of the different bowl-foods that are wrongfully and lazily referred to as salads, let me address why salads perfectly encapsulate everything I hate about food. Even though there are infinite different kinds of salads, one thing they have in common (although this is not something that is exclusive to salads, so I don't think it can be considered a defining feature) is that they're mixed. Whenever I inevitably have to explain to someone why I don't eat certain foods, I typically fall back on the excuse that I don't like my food mixed or touching other foods. Anyone who knows me knows that this is not an accurate statement. I love borscht, I love apple pie, I love spaghetti bolognese--there's actually a whole multitude of mixed foods that I would count among my favourite meals. But--and here's where it might get a bit tricky to explain--the mixed foods that I like make sense as mixed foods (with the exception of borscht. I have no idea why I like borscht. I shouldn't, but oh my God, it's so delicious). All of these foods are perfected by their combination. I love plain pasta, but it only really shines when it's paired with a bolognese sauce (similarly, I love ground beef, but it's only perfected when combined with a tomato sauce). I love apple sauce, but it's really only at its best when it's in a pie shell. These foods make sense together because there are no jarring and contradictory sensations at play. They go together like Dick and Nicole in Tender is the Night: "He supposed many men meant no more than that when they said they were in love — not a wild submergence of soul, a dipping of all colors into an obscuring dye, such as his love for Nicole had been."

But salads are the exact opposite, and they're what I mean when I tell people that I hate mixed food. Those ingredients don't go together at all. There's too much forced combination of different textures, different liquid consistencies. There's no logic behind combining lettuce, feta cheese, olives, and tomatoes. Of course I've never tried a Greek salad, but I don't have to in order to know that there are at least three too many sensations going on there (technically four because I wouldn't eat any of those ingredients). Wait. How many ingredients are there in a Greek salad? Whatever the number, that's how many of them are totally unacceptable.

So, without any further ado, let's get this show on the road. What follows is by no means an exhaustive salad list; I've included only the salads that immediately come to mind and that I have likely observed first hand.

Green Salad: Of all the salads, this one is the least offensive to my logic of mixing because, it is my understanding, that it is just lettuce and a light dressing. But it also doesn't make any sense to me. Why bother with this salad? If eating that leaf of lettuce that one time has taught me anything, it's that lettuce has absolutely no purpose. It's not filling and the texture is unpleasant.



Caesar Salad: Caesar salads are everywhere, but it wasn't until part way through high school that I actually figured out what it is. What's all the fuss about? Why is this salad on every single menu? It sounds disgusting. Egg? Worcestershire sauce? I wonder if I ordered a Caesar salad but asked them to hold the lettuce, the egg, the olive oil, the lemon juice, the Worcestershire sauce, the garlic, and the pepper if they would just bring me two separate bowls of parmesan cheese and croutons. Because I could get on board with that kind of salad.

Greek Salad: Ever since someone first explained "dick cheese" to me in elementary school, I knew I would never eat Feta cheese. I'm pretty sure that's where it comes from. Have you ever met a Greek man? They're disgusting. But there are a lot of other problems with a Greek salad. Like the large portions of tomato that force you to acknowledge their presence in a way that small cubes of tomato never do. Or the olives. Did you know that I won't shop in a grocery store that has an open olive bar because they smell and look so disgusting that I can't bear to spend another second in their vicinity? (Take note, Extra Foods in Grand Forks).

Santa Fe Salad: I hate to break it to you, but this isn't a salad. It's a bowl of beans. I understand that it sounds a lot better to roll into a potluck and announce that you've brought a Santa Fe salad rather than "Oh hey, I just brought this bowl full of beans," but come on. Call a spade a spade.

Pasta Salad: Presumably "pasta salad" is a category unto itself, but the pasta salad I'm aware of is composed of cold cork-screw pasta and strawberries and, as such, is the most offensive salad of them all. This is exactly what I meant when I said that salad forces two things together that by no means should be. Look, I love pasta. No one loves pasta more than I do. And I love strawberries. They're the second best berry (after perfectly plump blueberries, obviously). But even though I love both of them, there's no way I would ever consider putting them in a bowl together and then adding God knows what else! Get out of here with your pasta salad! I am crying right now! I'm not just saying that as a figure of speech or for emphasis! I am actually crying because it's too much for me to take in.  Stop ruining everything I love in this world! You want your strawberries paired with something more substantial? Then eat them on a waffle or with an angel food cake or in a pie or as jam on toast, but for the love of God, leave pasta out of it!

Noodle Salad: The only good thing that can be said about this salad is that it doesn't try to incorporate summer fruits. This salad is probably so slimy and makes me shudder in the exact same way that I shuddered when my mum told me that one time she was swimming in the ocean and then when she got back on the boat and shined a flashlight into the water she had just been swimming in, it was full of eels.

Kale Salad: Wow, I bet you shop at a farmer's market. I bet you bought some fashionable tote bags just to do your farmer's market shopping. I bet you rub beets on those tote bags so that when someone asks why there's a purple stain on your tote bag, you can say, "Oh, this ol' stain? That's just a beet stain from all the beets I bought at the farmer's market. I always shop at the farmer's market because I like to support our local farmers." Now that I'm actually looking at this picture of a kale salad, it looks a lot like what the end result would be if I ate a salad and then threw it up into a bowl.

Coleslaw: I've never eaten coleslaw, and I never will. But one good thing that can be said about coleslaw is that at least it has a consistent texture. What is it? Just raw, grated cabbage, right? Maybe some grated carrots? At least everything is crunchy. So I'm more or less okay with this salad. Although I have a feeling that it's also customary to add some sort of creamy dressing to it, which of course I am strongly opposed to.


Potato Salad: One time, when I was about 12 years-old, I wandered into the kitchen on a summer's day. No one was home. And I was hungry. There was a bowl sitting on the counter. I didn't know what it was. I don't know why I was drawn to it. I would never try a mystery food and I don't know what was going through my head at the time. I think I must have thought it was something it was not. But I put a piece of it my mouth and was immediately seized by pure terror and disgust. I was entirely immobilized. I couldn't even spit it out right away. I just stood there, rooted to the ground by a kind of extreme horror that I had hitherto never experienced. It was potato salad. I just put potato salad in my mouth. I get so angry when people try to coax me into trying something new because their reasoning is always that even if I don't like it, it will all be over in a second. But they weren't there when I tried that potato salad. They don't know what it's like, and they'll never understand that while that terrible taste did only last a manner of seconds before I spat it out and rinsed my mouth, I have been haunted by that experience ever since. I can't even talk about all the reasons why potato salad is wrong. I just don't want to think about it anymore.

A second post on salads is soon to follow, and its contents may shock and appall you. Just like a pasta-strawberry salad should.

On the dinner table, the salad is ever-present

But its definition is marked by constant deferment.

If I say "salad," what comes to mind?

Lettuce? Tomato? Dressing? A hint of lemon rind?

There's no natural correlation between the word and the thing

And we're left with a problem that is fundamentally Derridian.  

So remember before you sit down to dine

The inevitable gap between the signifier and the sign.  

The Cabbage

When Adam asked God, What is beauty? God extended his hand and said, Behold, my son. Upon His palm danced swirls of gaseous purples, reds, greens, and ribbons of white. As each colour separated itself from the others, it became entangled in the ribbons until several orbs were formed, each more wondrous than the last. God delicately placed the orbs upon the ground and wrapped them in leaves of the gentlest green so that they might be protected from harm.

Here is a picture of an arrangement of cabbages on display in
Vienna. They are so beautiful that only a monster could eat them.

God directed Adam to look upon these--His most perfect creations--whenever Adam might question the infinite grace of his maker. But he was not to eat them, because to eat them would be to destroy beauty. For seven days and seven nights, Adam gazed upon the magnificent spheres, unable to avert his eyes from such radiant beauty. But as Adam’s admiration for the cabbages grew, so did his discontent with his own physical form. He reasoned that if he were to ingest the cabbages, he too would become as beautiful as they were.

After gobbling up the last of the cabbages, Adam muttered, Das gut! No sooner than the words had escaped his lips, his belly began to bloat and ache: the dance that had formed the beauteous spheres was now being undone inside himself. He felt the colours pull apart, swelling and swirling as they danced themselves back to their gaseous state.

And for seven more days and seven more nights, Adam was in the throes of agony, writhing in pain and trying to expel all of the heinous gas from his delicate human system. The only thing more horrible than the painful bloating of his digestive tract was the intense shame he now felt in front of Eve; an emotion that had hitherto never been experienced before by man.

As was his custom, God doled out punishment for man’s insolent and disobedient consumption of food that ought not be consumed: Thou shalt feel shame and the burn of crimson upon thine cheek for all thine bodily functions in the company of thine partner.

Cabbage angels.

And that is why you should never eat a cabbage: beautiful to behold, but deadly to ingest. Well, that and because it tastes and smells like the effects that it will inevitably have on your body. (An exception can be made for borscht, but that will be covered in an up-coming post.)

And for anyone interested in my thoughts on sauerkraut, here’s a query: How do you make a bad thing worse?

Answer: Ferment it.

If considering the consumption of a cabbage,

Remember this, a timeless French adage:

'Mange-le si tu veux

Mais tu ne seras plus mon chou-chou.'*

That is to say: lucky in cabbage, unlucky in love.

*French authorities have insisted that “veux” and “chou” do not, in fact, rhyme. But I maintain that eux is an impossible sound and can only be pronounced in the exact same way as ou.