OT

I have been slowly reading Anthony Bourdain's The Nasty Bits. The book cost the perfect price of coming free if I clicked a link at certain time frame. So I clickied. And I am not letting a perfectly good book go to waste, so I'm reading it. I admit, it would not be a book I would actually buy, as the only memoirs I have found truly endearing and enduring are those by Farley Mowatt, and not every one wants to read about a man running naked through caribou.

Although, Anthony Bourdain would definitly understand the reasons why and the joy felt in so doing.

He writes like he talks, with too many adjectives and extra clauses, and yet with a rhythmic cadence of a beat poet. It's easy to get lost in the images, but I wouldn't ever want to diagram one of his sentences. :) I can hear his voice in my head as I am reading, and sometimes it's comforting and others, well. I don't know if we'd ever have much in common if I ever had the chance to meet the guy, but I certainly like him.

This book makes me think about food in my own life and my writing about Jeannie. She is obsessed with food. Food equals happiness. For me- food equals Family. We cannot gather without a meal being involved. An excuse to gather around one table, look at each other, and talk between bites about anything. We do talk about anything. My dearest friend Cheri came to our table and discussed a summer she could not poo and the cures involved. My family interrupts with cures and other suggestions. My fabulous ex-brother-in-law was there and he turned all sorts of pretty colors and was definitely not used to it. It was fun though. But don't- oh dear god in heaven- don't ask about the quality of the food served at my mother's table. I can name one dish that I really really adored that she could make when I was growing up-- the chicken and rice dish. And I haven't learned how to make it that way either. I had to learn whole new ways of cooking to learn dishes I would enjoy eating- like meatloaf. My mother's meatloaf comes in a ring of orange grease with the only redeeming value of being *always* served with taters au gratin. I love taters au gratin. I don't care if they are a box mix, made with cheese in a jar or lovingly started with a roux white sauce and continuing on to baking for hours... although I know which I'd prefer given the chance (and it ain't the box!). I even like armoured turnips because they are just like taters au gratin. My meatloaf is a completely different animal. I don't even have a regular recipe for it. I just mix half a pound of ground chuck (get the high fat version- it tastes better), an egg, some ketchup (the only thing I think it's fit for), onion (fresh, dry, or powder- doesn't matter as long as it's lots), garlic (ditto), and sometimes Worchestshire sauce or A1, basil, oregano, or other things, and then some bread crumbs, potato flakes (yes, the instant stuff- very soft compared to the bread crumbs), parmesan, and/or ground pork rinds. Mix well by hand and layer in a bread pan with lots and lots of cheese. I love cheese. Bake for 5 minutes after it smells up the house at around 350 F. And serve with some variety of cheesy taters. Currently, I like the velveta instant. And I won't apologize for it.

Anyway, I will finish this book, and probably give a better review later. I just find it hard to read without my baggage getting in the way.

I love you, Mom. Even if we both don't like each other's cooking much, I still treasure your company. So there. :)  ¶ 2:34 AM