Category Archives: salt

On pickles

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Read no further if you are a serious person looking to expand your mind because you will be disappointed. This post is about pickles. Normally I won’t write about as trivial as a cucumber in vinegar, but there is no use in denying it, I have been a fan my whole life. And it doesn’t matter what kind of pickle it is, I like them all: sweet, dill, spicy, garlic, kosher, beet, gherkins, hamburger slices, cold pack, bread and butter, sour, ice box. In fact, the stronger the pickle, the better. The more vinegar and spices, the better. Pickles are strong food not meant for either the light hearted or the picky eaters. I want my pickles to be strong and spicy, laced with garlic and jalapeños and cayenne peppers. I want pickles that make you think twice about a second bite. I want pickles that leave you with dragon breath so strong that even hours later, people will turn away when you speak. I want pickles that erase the taste of the beverage you are drinking. And pickles do go with just about everything except angel food cake, which I don’t eat anyway. Nothing is sadder than taken out the pickle jar and finding one, last, sad and solitary pickle floating in the brine and you have to give it to another person. Sweet pickles make a wonderful dessert if you are so inclined. If someone offers you a jar of homemade pickles, take it and run so you don’t have to share it with anyone. Pickles on burgers is an absolute necessity. People have been jailed for less. Craving pickles is not just for pregnant wives at midnight on Sunday. When you are dieting, pickles might be a part of the solution and not the problem. Pickles are not a garnish for more important food: they should have their own food category–vinegary stuff. Size is not a problem for pickles, but having a fresh jar of them might be. It is always a good idea to have an unopened jar of pickles in the pantry just in case. Where would tarter sauce be without pickles. Pickle relish is a delightful addition to any hotdog or frankfurter situation that might come at any given moment. No one should discriminate against pickles because of their size, shape, spice preference, or vinegar. The fashion of preserving pickles in crocks became anachronistic too soon. Pickles should be firm and crunchy. If pickles were offered at peace talks, all wars would be over sooner rather than later because once you share pickles with someone, you can no longer be at war with them. You probably can’t even be grumpy. I hear that pickles are a vegetable, but I’m sure this is just an ugly rumor. Although “Pickles” might be a weird name for a dog, it is certainly not the worst name either. If you are eating a pickle, and you should always eat your pickle, life cannot be all that bad, now can it?

On the munchies

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Everybody gets them, and always at the worst time. The munchies are rather irrational–eating when you don’t really need to. You had a big lunch or supper, but only a couple of hours have past and you already want a Twinky. You know that there is a fresh bag of chips in the cupboard, and you are planning your assault. The munchies show up at about midnight, maybe a little after. They also show up during sporting events, especially when you ensconced on your sofa drinking a refreshment. The munchies are an irrational craving that crawls into your brain like a Night Gallery earwig and gnaws at your cerebellum until you give in and make the popcorn, break open a new package of Ho-Ho’s, eat an entire row of Oreos, deep fry a few Twinkies, roll out a barrel of carmel corn, break out a box of chocolates, eat that Snickers that you hid away in the back of the freezer, go to White Castle for some sliders. Some people, skinny people mostly, can luxuriate in a profound attack of the munchies and suffer no ill effects from a night of gorging, but the rest of us feel nothing but bloat and guilt. Gluttony is a mortal sin, after all. But the munchies are amoral and know no bounds or ethical codes, are blind and unfeeling. The stomach growls, the saliva flows, and visions of sugar plums dance in your head. You start looking for your keys, the local gas station gas candy bars, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and potato chips. Maybe some soda too. Some Little Debbie snack cakes. You stare into the dim light of the refrigerator wondering where the leftover meatloaf went and wondering what might happen if you resuscitate the macaroni and cheese that was left over last week and is starting to look furry. In disdain, you push aside a Diet Coke, and wonder if you can super-size an order of burgers at the local fast food chain, you know, the one with the clown. It’s three a.m. and the pit in your stomach is deep and empty, so you head out to Wally World for crackers, gum drops, Pop Tarts, Cheerios, milk, and a couple of caramel apples. The munchies are why the big box stores never close. They are filled with people trying to solve their munchies habit, walking up and down the aisles trying to find that one perfect snack that will resolve their craving. The munchies bring out the worst in all of us, eating when we don’t need it, ruining our diets, putting on some extra weight, wrecking our teeth, pushing our blood sugar to record levels. We dream of cheese cake, doughnuts, and cotton candy, but we should be eating a small salad with lettuce, tomato, and onion. Olives are part of the munchies family, so one must stay away from them. We have met the enemy, as Pogo once said, and he is us.

On the munchies

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Everybody gets them, and always at the worst time. The munchies are rather irrational–eating when you don’t really need to. You had a big lunch or supper, but only a couple of hours have past and you already want a Twinky. You know that there is a fresh bag of chips in the cupboard, and you are planning your assault. The munchies show up at about midnight, maybe a little after. They also show up during sporting events, especially when you ensconced on your sofa drinking a refreshment. The munchies are an irrational craving that crawls into your brain like a Night Gallery earwig and gnaws at your cerebellum until you give in and make the popcorn, break open a new package of Ho-Ho’s, eat an entire row of Oreos, deep fry a few Twinkies, roll out a barrel of carmel corn, break out a box of chocolates, eat that Snickers that you hid away in the back of the freezer, go to White Castle for some sliders. Some people, skinny people mostly, can luxuriate in a profound attack of the munchies and suffer no ill effects from a night of gorging, but the rest of us feel nothing but bloat and guilt. Gluttony is a mortal sin, after all. But the munchies are amoral and know no bounds or ethical codes, are blind and unfeeling. The stomach growls, the saliva flows, and visions of sugar plums dance in your head. You start looking for your keys, the local gas station gas candy bars, peanuts, Cracker Jacks, and potato chips. Maybe some soda too. Some Little Debbie snack cakes. You stare into the dim light of the refrigerator wondering where the leftover meatloaf went and wondering what might happen if you resuscitate the macaroni and cheese that was left over last week and is starting to look furry. In disdain, you push aside a Diet Coke, and wonder if you can super-size an order of burgers at the local fast food chain, you know, the one with the clown. It’s three a.m. and the pit in your stomach is deep and empty, so you head out to Wally World for crackers, gum drops, Pop Tarts, Cheerios, milk, and a couple of caramel apples. The munchies are why the big box stores never close. They are filled with people trying to solve their munchies habit, walking up and down the aisles trying to find that one perfect snack that will resolve their craving. The munchies bring out the worst in all of us, eating when we don’t need it, ruining our diets, putting on some extra weight, wrecking our teeth, pushing our blood sugar to record levels. We dream of cheese cake, doughnuts, and cotton candy, but we should be eating a small salad with lettuce, tomato, and onion. Olives are part of the munchies family, so one must stay away from them. We have met the enemy, as Pogo once said, and he is us.

On a baked potato

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So, in all seriousness, what can you put on a baked potato? I would argue that the answer is almost anything: butter, sour cream, olive oil, chopped bits of jalapeño, salt, pepper, cheese, chives, cranberry sauce, creamed corn, oysters, gravy, black olives, sausage, bacon bits, parsley, chili, shrimp, chopped beef, pepperoni, chipotle, green onions, ice cream and strawberry jam with spicy peppers in it. Chocolate. Most people will eat a baked potato, but I find it both humorous and telling to watch someone prepare their potato for eating. Some people peel their potato; others cut it in two halves; still others might split their potato and force it apart like an open wound. Still others just start eating the whole thing, skin and all. A baked potato must be done without the slightest hint of crunchiness or rawness. Nothing ruins a baked potato like serving it half raw. Yet nothing is quite so delicate as a recently split open potato, vapor rising from the wound of soft, white flesh. Baked potatoes must be served hot and fresh. Later, if we cover it with all sorts of things–marshmallows and brown sugar–the potato will hold its own: sweet, salty, spicy, earthy, fruity, vinegary, bacony, cheesy. In the end, does the potato just serve as a delivery system for bacon, cheese, cranberries and salt? The baked potato is certainly about fat and starch, but I’m not sure about its nutritional value on beyond its high caloric value. Eating just a plain baked potato with nothing on it is a rather boring, if not humdrum, experience. The potato takes on the flavors that we dump on it, readily, greedily, quickly. It is a chameleon in its ability to blend in with the butter and pepper, salt and bacon. Some people might be tempted to make an entire meal of a baked potato, dumping brisket, beans and sausage on it in an attempt to add some protein. Is there anything sadder than a leftover baked potato that has floundered in the refrigerator for a week? Sometimes you just split it open, dump a little butter on it, salt and pepper, and it’s ready to go. Simple, hot, wonderful, filling, fast energy, joyful eating. Sometimes you can overcomplicate something that is really quite simple.

On fast food

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Lately, most fast food is neither fast nor food. Certainly, fast food covers the major food groups–fat, sugar, salt and caffeine, but isn’t there more to life than just choking down a burger and fries with a sugary, caffeinated drink? Sometimes I wonder if fast food joints aren’t a sign of the time poverty that both lowers our standards and robs us of life? I don’t mean to pick on these well-meaning businesses that serve us burgers, fries, chicken, fish, tacos, pizza, burritos and sandwiches, but we seem to be sacrificing a lot more than our basic nutrition by frequenting these places. Perhaps fast food is a weird oxymoron that invalidates the real meaning of breakfast, lunch and dinner. Perhaps none of these meals was every meant to be inhaled in some linoleum clad anti-aesthetic eating factory. For lunch today I sat with a retired colleague and we talked while we ate and neither he nor I was in any hurry. The food was all freshly made that day, including the chili which was really quite tasty. We took our time. None of our food came wrapped in anything. No ketchup, no fries, no cheese–why do they have to put that creepy orange cheese on everything?. Do we lose track of our souls when we submit them to a regime of fast anonymous food? Perhaps a family should spend time eating together–it certainly couldn’t hurt. I don’t really dislike the foods served in fast food joints–lots of salt, lots of fat, what’s not to like? But neither the empty calories nor the anonymous atmosphere of that food and those places can help with digestion. Eating for human beings is much more than just eating. Our gregarious nature leads us to share food in groups. Major religions have festivals in which a common meal is obligatory, often imbued with deep religious and spiritual significance. Fast food robs significance from the experience of eating. Once in awhile fast food might solve a momentary problem of eating when time is not on your side, but I would suggest that perhaps we all need to take a good long look at ourselves if this happens frequently. Fast food is bad not because it’s food, but because it’s fast. The burger and fries are not bad because they come in paper containers, but they are bad because we consume them with little or no expectation of doing little more than just filling our stomachs. That’s bad.