Lately, I have been grappling with the question of whether you really are what you eat. Does eating pork make you a pig? I enjoy a nice juicy burger from time to time. Does that make me a cow? Crab legs also tickle my taste buds. Does this combination make me a crabby, porked-up cow? I like to think not.
This stream of thinking leads to trouble and confusion. Others may choose to think of food consumption in terms of counting calories. I'm not a math major and, therefore, refuse to count that high every day.
Instead, looking at food symbolically makes more sense. Toss aside logical reasoning and first impressions. Dig a bit deeper into your dinner mate's soul as he or she tears into a bowl of macaroni and cheese covered in mustard. What can that possibly mean? I don't think I want to ponder what cheesy, mustard-slathered carbohydrates symbolize. But, a quick glance at a short list of favorite foods can tell you more about a person than any Facebook profile.
Take me as Exhibit A in this short case study. Number one on my list of favorite foods comes directly from my Grandma. Being the proud Czech I am, a table setting of pork loin, dumplings, sauerkraut, gravy - a.k.a liquid heart attack - and fresh baked rolls rocks my world harder than Youtube footage of Rusty the narcoleptic dog running merrily about and suddenly crashing into the dirt.
My mouth salivates as I grab for the utensils and my mother wraps a bib around my neck.
Pork and dumplings is a good old fashioned home cooked meal filled with butter, fat and strips of lard. Screw a dainty 10-course meal with dainty dishes and even daintier proportions. Slap some fat on my plate, and eventually on my thighs, for some flavor and comfort. I guess this means I'm not dainty or impressed with tiny silverware. I'm a home grown girl with home grown taste buds and a love for my grandma.
Second on my list of all time favorites is the one-of-a-kind pancake. Who can refuse a pile of dough covered in sugary syrup? The dentist has informed me my sweet tooth and Buddy the Elf's are comparable in size, but everyone can appreciate sweetness at breakfast. That's why 24-hour breakfast joints were invented - to please the 24-hour sugary pancake addiction. It's kind of like making crack available to addicts 24/7.
The pancake is simple, original, sweet and cheap - just like me. Pancakes don't cause controversy or disrupt the status quo. They are standard and always appreciated. I bet in the year 3050, you will be able to zoom your little flying car into Perkins and order a pancake.
You can't mess with a classic, unless you trash it up with lots of fluffy junk like whipped cream and flavored butter. That makes the classic seem more like Dolly Parton instead of Audrey Hepburn. Just one glance at Dolly's daily changing wigs and breast size takes away an appetite. Everyone naturally prefers to be compared with Hepburn.
Third on my list of favorite foods is barbeque anything. I could list off more possibilities than Forrest Gump's old chum Bubba. Strap a bib on, grab some wet naps and plow into a pile of sweet meat. Barbeque is great in all of its dirty ways.
I like to think I have more soul than the average Midwestern girl and barbeque hits the soulful spot. This also may explain my love for big voiced gospel music, rap lyrics and extreme heat. It's all tied together through a deep serving of beef brisket.
Juicy beef covered in sauce means more than a delicious meal. Barbeque is all about putting some extra tender loving care into your meal and being humble. Heck, some places will just plop a pile of meat on a table covered in wax paper and let you have at it. The table action can look more like trashy women fighting for Bret Michael's attention on Rock of Love."" Now that's scary. I'd take the table of barbeque over that any day.
This analysis reveals that I am not dainty, cheap or scared of Bret Michaels. That sounds about right. Food can say a lot about a person once you consider it. Well, my mustard covered macaroni and cheese is getting cold, and I don't want to leave my olives waiting for dessert. Perhaps I don't even want to know what that all means. I'm done psychoanalyzing for the day.
If you also consider yourself a crabby, porked-up cow and need someone to share a meal with, e-mail Emily at _bisek@wisc.edu.
