Food: Friend or Foe?

"You have grown fat on the blood of the innocent, which, as it turns out, is the main ingredient in that white cream inside Twinkies."

Upon first glance, one might suspect this post was to be about some category of eating disorder... and it still could be - you never know where Ninja Kitty will venture when it comes to remembering what the hell the point was to be...

About a year into my marriage, My 'Ol Man mentioned something at a party that caused me to spew gin out my nose in a less than lady-like fashion: "When we met, she told me she could cook!" Hey now! Back up that trolley! I'll deny uttering such a foolish thing to my grave. As pretty well anyone who's encountered me can attest to, I would never have such delusions of grandeur unless I was either 3 sheets to the wind (so OK, I s'pose it's POSSIBLE) or meant it in the most sarcastic of senses.



Growing up, on certain occasions, my father cooked and more rarely, my mother would bake. There were plenty of jokes between my brothers and I suggesting that if we wanted a home cooked meal from a woman, we'd have to beg to be adopted by one of the neighbors ( My mother was less than thrilled to be a continual target of our jokes). It later came out that when my brothers were kidlets (before the miraculous birth of Yours Truly), she TRIED cooking - but my father always worked long hours at work and my brothers were finicky. Eventually, out of pure frustration, she gave up and decided to let us fend for ourselves. Fair enough. Now that I'm a Mama, I can understand that sentiment all too well.

The difference between she and I is that she CAN cook. Now that she lives on her own, she has amassed a bloody catalogue of recipes and is always on the lookout for something new and fabulous. She has always gravitated more towards the flavorful and spicy end of the food spectrum which I can totally appreciate as a now-smoker....The things she dreams up are amazing, if I do say so myself. Clearly my brothers and I have plenty of apologizing to do for all our years of heckling. But in the absence of this knowledge, I always figured I had some sort of genetic predisposition to lack all talents in the vast world of food. I even found it to be a bonding point.

When push comes to shove, which I generally find creative ways around, I can fall back on basic literacy skills to add water to some boxed creation brought to you by the good folks at Kraft or Betty Crocker - but even that tends to end in disaster, or at the very least, looks of disapproval from the kiddos.  I wasn't one of those little girls who grew up worshipping an Easy Bake oven... In fact, at the risk of alienating myself from all the foodies out there, I guess I just never cared all that much about food. *GASP*! I know. It's true. I literally experience heartburn at going out to eat. Sure, I can exhibit appreciation for things that have more tantalizing taste bud scrumptuousness than cardboard, but seems to me it's all going to be purged in one manner or another not long after. It's almost become more of a necessary evil in my skull. Once upon a time, I even fancied a harebrained scheme that I could live off smells. After all, the two senses are rather entwined, no? As one may imagine, that lasted about 10 hours - turns out those mint leaves growing on the side of our house lacked the levels of nutrition most humans, in theory, need... Conspiracy? You decide.

Add to this supreme lack of culinary talents, my general hypersensitivity and every breakfast, lunch & dinner equates to moments of unreasonable stress. I dread each approaching meal more than the last. When my almost-2-year-old lobs his applesauce at me, I immediately break down in tears of defeat. My pleas of "don't worry, Honey, Mama didn't make this - I only removed the wrapper" do nothing to help my plight. I still don't quite understand what's so wrong with raising them on Fruit Loops.... Silly pediatricians and their wild notions!

Perhaps someday we'll live in a Jetson's dream world where frazzled Mamas/Papas near and far need exert no more energy than pressing a button on a screen to experience satisfying results of fully tummies.... Or we'll all be on some spaceship to the moon where I can simply open those delectably simplistic freeze-dried cubes of joy. In the meantime, could someone put a bug in My 'Ol Man's ear regarding the upcoming Mother's Day holiday? All this Mama wants is a day w/out food!

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Kitty

Monday, April 25, 2011

Food: Friend or Foe?

"You have grown fat on the blood of the innocent, which, as it turns out, is the main ingredient in that white cream inside Twinkies."

Upon first glance, one might suspect this post was to be about some category of eating disorder... and it still could be - you never know where Ninja Kitty will venture when it comes to remembering what the hell the point was to be...

About a year into my marriage, My 'Ol Man mentioned something at a party that caused me to spew gin out my nose in a less than lady-like fashion: "When we met, she told me she could cook!" Hey now! Back up that trolley! I'll deny uttering such a foolish thing to my grave. As pretty well anyone who's encountered me can attest to, I would never have such delusions of grandeur unless I was either 3 sheets to the wind (so OK, I s'pose it's POSSIBLE) or meant it in the most sarcastic of senses.



Growing up, on certain occasions, my father cooked and more rarely, my mother would bake. There were plenty of jokes between my brothers and I suggesting that if we wanted a home cooked meal from a woman, we'd have to beg to be adopted by one of the neighbors ( My mother was less than thrilled to be a continual target of our jokes). It later came out that when my brothers were kidlets (before the miraculous birth of Yours Truly), she TRIED cooking - but my father always worked long hours at work and my brothers were finicky. Eventually, out of pure frustration, she gave up and decided to let us fend for ourselves. Fair enough. Now that I'm a Mama, I can understand that sentiment all too well.

The difference between she and I is that she CAN cook. Now that she lives on her own, she has amassed a bloody catalogue of recipes and is always on the lookout for something new and fabulous. She has always gravitated more towards the flavorful and spicy end of the food spectrum which I can totally appreciate as a now-smoker....The things she dreams up are amazing, if I do say so myself. Clearly my brothers and I have plenty of apologizing to do for all our years of heckling. But in the absence of this knowledge, I always figured I had some sort of genetic predisposition to lack all talents in the vast world of food. I even found it to be a bonding point.

When push comes to shove, which I generally find creative ways around, I can fall back on basic literacy skills to add water to some boxed creation brought to you by the good folks at Kraft or Betty Crocker - but even that tends to end in disaster, or at the very least, looks of disapproval from the kiddos.  I wasn't one of those little girls who grew up worshipping an Easy Bake oven... In fact, at the risk of alienating myself from all the foodies out there, I guess I just never cared all that much about food. *GASP*! I know. It's true. I literally experience heartburn at going out to eat. Sure, I can exhibit appreciation for things that have more tantalizing taste bud scrumptuousness than cardboard, but seems to me it's all going to be purged in one manner or another not long after. It's almost become more of a necessary evil in my skull. Once upon a time, I even fancied a harebrained scheme that I could live off smells. After all, the two senses are rather entwined, no? As one may imagine, that lasted about 10 hours - turns out those mint leaves growing on the side of our house lacked the levels of nutrition most humans, in theory, need... Conspiracy? You decide.

Add to this supreme lack of culinary talents, my general hypersensitivity and every breakfast, lunch & dinner equates to moments of unreasonable stress. I dread each approaching meal more than the last. When my almost-2-year-old lobs his applesauce at me, I immediately break down in tears of defeat. My pleas of "don't worry, Honey, Mama didn't make this - I only removed the wrapper" do nothing to help my plight. I still don't quite understand what's so wrong with raising them on Fruit Loops.... Silly pediatricians and their wild notions!

Perhaps someday we'll live in a Jetson's dream world where frazzled Mamas/Papas near and far need exert no more energy than pressing a button on a screen to experience satisfying results of fully tummies.... Or we'll all be on some spaceship to the moon where I can simply open those delectably simplistic freeze-dried cubes of joy. In the meantime, could someone put a bug in My 'Ol Man's ear regarding the upcoming Mother's Day holiday? All this Mama wants is a day w/out food!

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