The Harbinger

Have you wondered why there haven’t been any recipes in this column recently? There’s a simple reason, really. I’ve been banned. I am no longer allowed to use my family as guinea pigs. OH! Did you know that they’re religiously sacrificed and a main source of protein in areas of Peru? Guinea pigs ~ not my family.

There are meats, vegetables, breads, spices, and herbs that I’ve been told by my loving family to avoid. Read: “I hate that shit” or “That’s NASTY” or “It gives me indigestion *burp*.” The list is staggering, people. Unbelievably limited. Mindblowingly B-O-R-I-N-G.

Veal, goat and lamb are off limits because they’re gamey. Duck is too fatty, ground turkey is bland and rabbit just ain’t proper. “Thumper is the name of the truck, for chrissake,” not something that’s on the menu. Venison is dry, buffalo is expensive and gator is gristly.

Fresh cilantro, coriander, and anything having to do with curry have been kicked off my shopping list for life. So have dynamite tastes like fresh ginger, mango salsa, leeks, fresh dill and anything cooked with wine. Guacamole? I’ve learned how to make just enough for one. Oh, and capers look like rabbit poops.

Cooked green peppers are out (see the last issue of The Harbinger for that explanation). Another personal non-favorite is eggplant. I’ve tried to like it, really I have. In various cooked forms. I just don’t.

Spicy hot foods and any odoriferous cheeses are scratched. Forget about feta and fennel. Even Swiss cheese is too musky. Hoisin will never set foot in the house, nor will fish sauce. Anything more than the occasional jalapeno is unwelcome. Balsamic vinegar or red wine reductions just ruin the taste of good food. The only thing I can ever deglaze with is milk: for chicken, sausage or pork chop gravies.

Blackened food is only allowed if it was an accident and the only thing Cajun that’s invited is the occasional Zydeco CD.

Couscous has a weird texture. Same with beets, tofu and fresh figs. Rice noodles, goat cheese and cooked raisins “feel weird on my tongue” and fresh greens are “stinky” when they’re being cooked. Heaven forbid I try to sneak in some grilled hearts of romaine or hummus.

Sprinkles of sesame seeds are for the birds and toasted pignoles just “sounds” wrong. Anchovies, peaches and kiwi fruit have hair. Speaking of hair, that kind of pasta has no oompf, “Next time get that big flat one.” I think they wanted lasagna again, but I picked up some linguini, just in case.

If ever I were to try cooking any type of Middle Eastern, Mediterranean, African or “non-American” food, I’d be kicked out of the kitchen just because of the intense fragrances. I’d love to gobble up a Tandoori Chicken or savor a couple of lamb chops with mint sauce again. I fantasize of a spinach salad with brie, strawberries, walnuts and rasberry vinaigrette.

A risotto wouldn’t be appreciated, particularly one that might contain fruit or mushrooms. Anything other than button mushrooms isn’t welcome. One time I even tried to sneak grilled Portobello sandwiches into the menu. There was only one of us who ate theirs ~ me. You’ve never seen a package of hamburger meat thawed and formed into patties that quickly.

Fruit? There hasn’t been a poached pear or fried apple in my diet since I was married to “that other guy.” Fruits come in cans or are for canning and then used in cobblers or pies. Papaya has those nasty black seeds; pomegranate tastes like kumquats and “They’re awful.” Olives must be green, pitted, and too salty to taste anything else. They’re eaten with a toothpick, not included in any recipe.

John and I will get a craving every now and then for a New England boiled dinner (corned beef and cabbage). I have to put the crock-pot outside so “that smell” doesn’t bother anyone. I also have to make a second dinner for the complainers because they “won’t touch that shit.”

Onion rolls instead of plain hamburger buns? One would think I’d committed treason. While rye, pumpernickel or marbled breads are treats for Hubby, the kids won’t touch ‘em. There were groans of regret when I made French toast out of mini-croissants for breakfast that one time. Sure – no leftovers, but I was politely asked not to do that again (I attribute the fact that they were eaten at all to lots and lots of maple syrup). Pita pocket sammiches? HA! I even tried making pita pizzas. Once. Tortilla roll-ups with spinach, chicken and some goat cheese? Nope. Tortillas are allowed only if they have lots of Mexican meats and shredded cheese. I think those are called burritos, because tacos actually have lettuce and tomato and that doesn’t fly.

When I made our first Cuban sub I got glares from the masses, but now it’s on regular rotation. Little does the kid know that there’s Swiss on that mutha… The only reason artichokes are allowed is that they’re served with butter. I tried the mayonnaise-based dipping sauce, but had to melt butter while my artichoke got cold. I used that dipping sauce later to make tuna fish salad and was the only one who ate it.

I’ve snuck ground turkey into spaghetti. The only comment about that was that I should use a difference sauce next time (I’m a Ragu girl and he’s a Prego man). Once, I ate a whole spaghetti squash by myself because nobody would put marinara on a vegetable. That led to forgetting about stuffed zucchini, too.

I’m growing parsley, but it’s going to be a decorative plant, I guess. “That’s just a garnish, right?” I’m also growing mint, but it “tastes like a plant”… One thing’s for sure, that gallon of minted tea in the fridge right now is mine, ALL MINE! I don’t have to worry about growing basil, oregano, tarragon, cilantro or, well… any other friggin’ herb. Maybe I’ll feed ‘em some of the dieffenbachia on the back porch. That’ll keep ‘em quiet!

Vegetarian night had the kybosh put on it, “Where’s the meat?” and soups are only welcome in the cooler months. Chili can’t be too spicy or have shredded beef or chicken in it, just ground beef. OX TAIL SOUP? You’ve got to be kidding me.

Someone PLEASE save me from these meat and potato people! My taste buds are horny. They scream for texture and are wanton for depth of flavor. My pallet has an earthy craving for variety and lusts for epicurean surprises. Let’s face it I’m hungry.

Perhaps I’ll ship my guys off to Peru and let them learn what guinea pigs are really for.

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