Mexican food

Crisis on 38th Street

/ skidaz / Leave a comment

 

21994414_10155766019509173_8283207962716558555_oI was working at the computer when my cabana boy rushed into my house.  “Sue, Sue where are you?”

Now since this thirty-year-old is not prone to hysteria, I jumped from chair and sped to the kitchen.  “Matt, what’s up?”

“I’m having a crisis?”

“Really at 2:45 PM on a Tuesday afternoon?  What is it?”

th

“My prof just emailed the class and said we’re having a taco potluck tonight.  I’m in charge of the meat!  I’m on break from work; I don’t get off till after 4, and I have to be at class at 5! What am I going to do?  I don’t know how to make taco meat.  Should I go to Taco Bell and try to buy it from them?”

“Do you have the ground beef and seasoning?”

“No.  I’m doomed.”

“Do you want me to save your sorry self?”

“Would you?  Oh, I owe you.  I owe you big time.  Anytime you need something done just let me know.”

By the time Matt returned from work, showered, and changed clothes, the taco meat was bubbling away in the crockpot.  His crisis was resolved.

MG_97181

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.  You know what’s weird, Sue?  I’m the only guy in the class.  The gals all were assigned things like, chips, tortillas, and sour cream.  I got the one thing I just couldn’t walk into a grocery and buy.”

I smiled, “No.  Not weird, my dear.  You were being tested by the prof.  She wanted to see if you could deliver.  She taught you a subtle lesson on sexism.  So as you plug in the crockpot at class, proudly announce that guys can cook.”  I don’t doubt for one moment that wily prof wasn’t smirking.

 

 

 

 

Bon Vivant…Not

/ skidaz / Leave a comment

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)

November Moth (Epirrita dilutata)