I’ve never been a gourmet cook, perhaps because of my upbringing. Both of my grandmothers were simple, country girls who prepared simple, country meals. Each had their strengths. My maternal, Tennessee, grandmother’s fried chicken and green beans were delicious. My paternal grandmother’s homemade cinnamon rolls, blueberry muffins, and fruit pies were spectacular. Beef, pork, or chicken with various potato dishes were my staple. On rare occasions, fish was served. My mom never mastered the art of anything that tasted like spaghetti sauce, but to this day, her banana cakes light up my palate!
As a mom, I tried to introduce my kids to different foods. As toddlers, they abhorred baby food carrots and peas. Who wouldn’t? For years, my youngest ate only chicken fingers or a hot dog smothered with ketchup. The thought of ingesting a piece of lettuce, a slice of tomato, or a green bean gagged her. In contrast, my eldest was more daring. She loved spaghetti, stuffed peppers, prime rib, and baked potatoes and sour cream. Today, she’s a sushi addict.
However, when we’re together and want to venture out for dinner, we frequent Mexican or Chinese restaurants. I accepted long ago I’d never be able to duplicate their culinary expertise. When we’re in NYC, we eat cheese cake. Yes, we have compiled a list of best to so-so.)
Admittedly, I’ve never prepared veal, lamb, elk, javelins, deer, nor pheasant. Further my thought of preparing brains, liver, or mountain oysters gags me. So you can imagine my reaction to a high-end magazine’s feature story: Welcome to the New World of Eating Insects.
Dragonflies, ants, grasshoppers, cicada, water bugs, and…freaking scorpions and tarantulas! According to one source, “over 2 billion people regularly rely on one of the 1,900 edible species of insects as a source of protein.” Cricket-flour chips are the new rage. Frankly, I can’t think of anything more revolting than a fly whose just sat on one of my dogs’ poop ending up in a casserole.
And to those of you who’ve been invited to my dinner party next week, the evite read: BYOB. I’m well-stocked with booze. Bring Your Own Bugs!
November Moth (Epirrita dilutata)
A few weeks ago, I shared the story of Bob, my current cabana boy. Bob and his burly dog, Max moved into my guest house over a year ago. For a year, Max only ventured outside when my dogs were in the house. If they happened to see him, they’d chase him back through his doggy door. They’d gnash their teeth if they spied him through the sliding glass door. I would go and visit Max; I felt sorry for him, for his dad was gone much of the time. He spent endless hours alone–unhealthy for a pack animal. Dogs want to belong.
The mantra of my maternal grandmother, probably my clone. She lived to be 99.5 years, had a great sense of humor, and was overtly willing to try most everything–even a second marriage at 80 years old.
Dr. Suze Espouses 