The Case of the Ugly Dunklings.

One thing that dunklings have going for them is that they taste delicious. One thing they do not have going for them is their looks. At best, they look like slimy intestinal sacs filled with unidentifiable mushiness. Like the torsos of anemic and seriously flabby fish. Like something extracted from an ogre's nostrils.

But an ugly dish can be redeemed by being paired with a breath-takingly beautiful dish such as Mom's Uncompromisingly Delicious Bean Dip, the nickname you children will undoubtedly have given this particular dish as soon as you're able to speak.

So that's it. That's the whole lesson. Dress things up by pairing them with something nicer. It's not a metaphor about insisting on only being photographed with friends who are uglier than you so you can look prettier by comparison. Although now that you mention it, that's never really a bad idea, either.

The Curious Case of the Gelled Garlic.

This past week, I was minding my own business, using ingredients at the normal pace, letting them sit in their ordinary place on top of the microwave (ginger root), beside the coffee maker (avocados), and on the diningroom table (vitamins).

So you can imagine my surprise, children, when my ingredients began doing something that was certainly not ordinary. This perfectly normal bulb of garlic started getting translucent and gel-like. Squishy. Mellower-smelling.

Your father said I should probably just throw it out, but he didn't know I had already used it in his dinner! I'll write tomorrow if it kills us.

Actually, I probably won't.

Some Things I Find Beautiful & Strange.

I've been waiting for these images to fit neatly into the narrative arc of a blog post, but children, I just don't think it's going to happen. So I will present them to you here, simply as they are: beautiful and strange things that I come across in my everyday life.

First, I present you a perfectly freckled banana. It's rare to find a banana with such tiny, even freckles across its skin. Rarer still that your camera is handy at just the moment you notice the banana's loveliness.

Second, I offer the Mysteriously Crackled Ice. Frozen in a thin layer across the top of the ice cube tray, this ice covered a dozen chilly air pockets, and nothing else. No "cubes" here, my children. Only an icy crust easily penetrated by a human finger.

Finally, a plate monster. With soysage eyes and a giant kale mouth, this monster has something strange and happy to offer any diner who might come across it during the course of a meal.

All right. More later. I have no doubt in my mind that the world will continue being as strange and beautiful as ever, and when it does, I will blog about it.

What's in a Spoon?

To your father, a spoon is a spoon. He doesn't care whether it has a pointy end, what its scooping capacity is, or how it might balance (hypothetically) on the edge of a mixing bowl during the Ballet of the Kitchen Utensils.

To me, however, not all spoons are created equal. I'd like to spend a few moments today addressing the matter of my dessert spoon.

This spoon, as you can see, has a rounded end (so as not to press into the tender flesh between the thumb and forefinger) and a deeply scooped head. Some folks would say this spoon is proof that there is someone out there creating spoons--how else, these people would ask, could a spoon so magnificently hold the perfect amount of both milk and cookie in a single mouthful?


Other folks would say that this spoon evolved to have this structure over months of being used to eat desserts.

Me, I don't care who you believe. As long as you get your chubby little child arms out of my way so I can have this spoon at dessert time, dammit.

The Redcoats Are Coming!

Naturally, by "redcoats," I mean "strawberries." I am a poet after all, and it is a poet's job to describe things so that other people have to slow down and ask themselves what the GD the poet was smoking when she put those words together in that order.

It was a real treat to find these beauties at the produce store, and when I got them home, your father and I about devoured them.

Sorry, frozen blueberries, but your reign is OVER. (The pancake in which these blueberries were staying took the news awfully hard, electing to slice itself in half and flop against the plate as if nothing were worth living* for.)

*By "living," of course, I mean "being covered in syrup."

BUSTED!

Ever since your mom discovered that she has an allergy to dairy, your father has been really "enjoying" being the only one to drink out of the milk jug.



I mean really enjoying.

And I can't even get upset about it, because it's not like he's being unsanitary--he's only sharing germs with his future self, after all.

What Things Look Like.

I'm not going to pretend that I'm one of those people who thinks things are just regular looking. I mean, I don't just look at a slice of cauliflower and say to myself, "Oh, there's a slice of a vegetable that looks only like itself and nothing at all like a majestic albino tree growing by fractals from the earth."


That's just not who I am.

And when I see the poisonous purple shoots sprouting from a potato neglected on the shelf too long, I most certainly do not not think to myself that maybe this is what blind alien penguins would look like, if we ever found them out in space hurrying in a pack across their alien landscape.


So there. Now you know.

The Differences in the Kinds of Meals Your Father & I Prepare.

Children, you may have already observed that your father and I have slightly different preferences in cooking and eating. Rest assured that these differences existed long before you came into our lives.


For example, your father, left to his own devices, will prepare himself a meal of bacon, Nutella, and Pabst Blue Ribbon.











Notice how nonchalant he is about not only eating the Nutella directly from the container, but also about eating it before the "healthy" part of his dinner.


I, on the other hand, make myself smoothies with kale in them.