Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Speaking of guacamole . . . When I go into a Mexican restaurant, I do so with the full weight of the armed forces of the United States behind me. Because as a vegetarian, I don’t want to know if there’s lard in the refried beans.

Even though I don’t eat meat, I try not to be fanatical about it. If a dish is described as smothered in chili, I’m going to be curious whether it’s con carne or not. But I can pretty much decide from the description whether or not it’ll turn me off. The refries are another matter, because the more traditional the kitchen, the more likely it is that they’ve stirred in a big dollop o’ lard. And with more eateries taking pains to point out that they don’t use lard, you’ve got to figure that those that don’t say, do. But for a good many years, I’ve turned a blind eye to the question and eaten my beans in willful ignorance.

Same goes for the rice, until I was shocked out of my obliviousness this past year. We were ordering spinach enchiladas in one of our regular Mexican places in Flagstaff and made the mistake of commenting to the waitress that it was one of our favorite veggie dishes in town. Whereupon she identified herself as also a vegetarian and warned us that the rice was made with chicken stock. I didn’t really need to know this, because now I can’t in good conscience get rice there anymore. And of course it now has me wondering about how they prepare it at every other Mexican restaurant I go into.

Entering most restaurants as a vegetarian must be something like entering the army as a homosexual. You don’t really announce yourself. You kind of feel your way around and try to be inconspicuous. But you don’t exactly feel welcome. There are more options for vegetarians in British pubs than there are in most American restaurants. Chains like Friday’s, Chili’s, and Applebee’s could care less. Between the lines in the menu, you read “We don’t need your kind here.” Even so, I don’t mind letting them know when push comes to shove. And it’s not like they’re going to kick me out. So there is a difference.

One of these years, they’ll start posting ingredients on menus. But until then, if there’s lard in the beans or chicken stock in the rice, I’d just as soon not know. Just like the Republicans on the Senate Armed Services Committee. And one of these years, maybe there’ll be a bit more respect on both fronts.

News Flash! Avocados Conquer Earth!

Super Bowl Sunday is reputed to be the day on which Americans wolf down guacamole like there’s no tomorrow – a precaution against one’s team’s losing, I suppose. And there seems to be no shortage of avocados at the grocery store, so let the dipping begin.

I remember as a kid in the Philly burbs hearing radio commercials for avocados, presumably because they were just being introduced to that market, so I feel like my life has ridden the crest of the avocado wave. (Fun fact: The word “avocado” comes from the Nahuatl ahuacatl, which means “testicle.”) I don’t know that I ever encountered guacamole before moving to Arizona in 1979, but it won me over from the first dip. Even so, I think it took a couple of years before I actually bought one and figured out how to open it; now it seems I’m fondling them for firmness at every shopping trip.

The big news, of course, is that the split seasons for avocados seem to have passed. Used to be that in winter the black Hasses gave way to the green Bacons, which were never quite as good; now we have Hasses all year, with the little code stickers in the domestic off-season indicating their Chilean origin.

Now, here’s what gets to me. When I go to the grocery store and see a bin full of avocados, I will occasionally flash on the fact that there are similar bins full of avocados all over town. And all over the state. And all over the country.  And week after week, they’re being replenished. And I’m picturing these container ships coming in from Chile on a regular basis carrying millions of avocados. And it blows my mind.

Why don’t I have the same reaction with oranges or tomatoes or onions? I guess because for the longest time I considered avocados a luxury item, a non-necessity, with the good Hass variety only available seasonally. And it’s not that I’m reacting in horror to the carbon footprint of this delightful fruit (although that’s certainly in the back of my mind), I just can’t get over how many avocados are crossing the equator on a regular basis. Yet Chile only ranks sixth in avocado production (behind Mexico, Indonesia, the U.S., Colombia, and Brazil), so I’m guessing that what I’m seeing at the market is merely the tip of the guacamole.

Maybe I sound like I just fell off the turnip avocado truck. But I’m beginning to fear that avocados are waiting to take over the world. And those big pits? Whatever you do, don’t put them under your bed!
 

A Version of Aversion

In a previous post about the appropriateness of religious imagery in advertising, I made a few suggestions for McDonald’s but neglected a necessary disclosure: I have never patronized McDonald’s in my life.

It didn’t start out as a matter of principle (as compared to my never having patronized Pizza Hut after they put up a restaurant just down the street from a little pizza shop in my hometown and drove it out of business). There just came a point where I realized I’d never been to McDonald’s and decided to keep it that way. By the time the golden arches arrived in the Philly burbs, I’d already been a fan of Gino’s, the regional fast-food burger chain. And when Burger King showed up, I was more than ready to have it my way.

But there was something about McDonald’s that made me want to stay away. Maybe it was feeling invaded – that the two all-beef patties, lettuce, cheese, etc was ripping off the already established Gino Giant (which for all I know was ripping off the Big Mac). Or maybe I had heard that walking under arches was bad luck. Or maybe it was just Ronald. Ronald was always a bit over the top. I never liked the clown heads outside of fun houses either. Creeped me out.

So I’ve managed to avoid McDonald’s, but I admit to having come dangerously close. My dad was into carving whales, and he talked a local mall-based McD with a nautical motif into buying a couple. I couldn’t not check them out, but all it took was walking in, scoping out the carvings, and walking out. And then there was the time the folks came to visit me in Tucson and I took them down to Nogales; after being unwilling to consume anything south of the border they afterward asked if I’d stop at the American-side McD so they could get coffee. I went to the drive-thru so they could satisfy their craving but like to think that I myself wasn’t patronizing the place. And since I went vegetarian around 1985, it’s not like it’s been hard. (My sole foray into the meat zone in recent memory was a Wendy’s, where I was asked if I wanted to biggie my fries. Who would have expected vocabulary enrichment at a fast food joint?)

When I recently had the occasion to get together with an old friend, he probably thought it peculiar that I balked at the suggestion of McDonald’s when it was the most convenient venue. But having gone this long, I saw no reason to break my streak. I once fancied that my tombstone could bear the epitaph “He never ate at McDonalds.” But there’s no sense in starting a list – an obelisk would be way too showy.

Waist Management

I suppose I was lucky to maintain roughly the same weight for almost 40 years. I was never slim - and have never been athletic - but there’s something to be said for consistency. So when I complained to my doctor (kinda chubby, so he made me feel thinner) that I’d been taking a 36 waist in pants since high school and recently had to go up an inch, he retorted “I don’t want to hear about it.” “Do you have a particular weakness?” I asked him. “Yeah,” he replied, “food.” That pretty much sums it up.

Things definitely got out of hand a year ago. First I was laid up with a broken ankle all summer, which effectively kept me from exercising for almost 3 months. Then last Christmas we got the bright idea to make cookies to send to people – and of course made a couple batches for ourselves. And then a couple more. 
 
I’ve never really recovered from that double punch, and even the 37s that Bean and Lands End thoughtfully provide (why do most stores skip odd sizes after 36?) have begun to feel tight – bad news with the holidays kicking off - and so I’ve hauled the Nordic Track out of storage. We’ve had that contraption for 20 years – Beth affectionately calls it “the torture machine” – and it keeps on trackin’.

My purpose here, however, is not to lament my condition but rather celebrate its cause.

Anyone who cooks (it being my role in this house) knows that the true value of the Internet lies in providing access to recipes. There have to be a gazillion of ’em up there, and they render printed cookbooks practically obsolete. Don't know where to begin? Just to go Cookthink, plug in what you’ve got sitting in the fridge, and it’ll give you recipes.

When I first started blog-surfing and came upon food blogs, it was like accessing a whole library of digital cookbooks. I landed on Sapid & Sweet shortly after it started and found a recipe for chick-pea fries, now firmly entrenched in my repertoire. The list of that poster’s favorite blogs led me to Smitten Kitchen and a foolproof recipe for jalapeño-cheddar scones. Stumbling on “what megan’s making...” provided a recipe for baked pasta with sausage that I found to be a step beyond Mark Bittman’s one for baked ziti that I had almost committed to, and it was so good that we didn’t mind having leftovers twice. But Megan was also making chocolate-chip pumpkin bread, and although I had managed to ignore most dessert items I came across (I’m more of a cook than a baker), that proved to be my achilles heel.

Let me tell you, this treat was so incredibly good – and using Ghirardelli 60% cacao chips undoubtedly contributed to making it healthy. The two loaves that the recipe produced were huge and dense, so anticipatory guilt compelled me to take one over to Beth’s sister’s for Thanksgiving dinner rather than freeze it for our own consumption later. Never mind the fact that Barb’s dessert buffet also featured pumpkin pie freshly baked by our niece Emily and two more pies (rhubarb and blueberry) that Dave’s dad had brought up from Rock Springs Café – pie heaven if ever there was one. I felt lucky he didn’t bring coconut cream or I would’ve waved the white flag then and there.

The other shoe waiting to drop is that I had a birthday a couple weeks ago and Beth gave me a gift certificate to Shannon’s Gourmet Cheesecakes here in town. I love New York style cheesecake (forget those silly refrigerator versions) almost as much as I do Beth - after all, it’s nature’s perfect food - and I sincerely believe it loves me right back. Unfortunately – or not – this recent recipe from Smitten Kitchen will probably remain beyond my grasp.

It just doesn’t end – and it’s not only the sweet stuff I’m talkin’ about: it’s hard to resist those artisan breads on a trip to Costco (as I avert my eyes from the tiramisu) or the ease of making pasta dishes for dinner, but I know that I don’t need the carbs either. At least that’s what the torture machine tells me.

So we’ll forego the cookies this year, and with any luck I won’t have to move beyond those 37s. Besides, I have a new doctor – and he’s fit as a fiddle.

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Update to Black Friday: I usually go to the Reuters site for their brief headline summary of what “Investors” are up to that day. Yesterday morning’s was “Stocks gain as retail sales counter Dubai.” Things slipped a bit after the opening bell but ended up, so it's interesting to note that Mr. Market was more attuned to shoppers than sheiks.