Tuesday 5 February 2013

Snacks Between Meals: Sexyland

At work, we're having a Biggest Loser competition, and I've decided to enter.  I've always been a bear in the winter months (eat more, sleep more, grow more body hair), but this year has been especially bad.  At 168 pounds, I'm heavier now than I have ever been. (You know it's bad when wearing a tie gives your neck a muffin top.)  If I don't do something about it soon, I won't be any use on the dragon boat team this summer except as ballast.

Also, Alison has been skating much more lately, has shed a lot of weight, and is enjoying the confidence (and men's glances) that has come with it.  She has been trying to get me to eat better and exercise so I can "join her in Sexyland."

Yes, she actually said Sexyland.

The problem with an invitation to move to Sexyland by one of its self-proclaimed residents is that I don't really find the idea of obtaining citizenship all that motivating.  You see, I already know someone from Sexyland, and she often visits me in Dumplingtown.  (And yes, those visits can include the conjugal variety.)  So, if Alison is already willing to go slumming with a denizen from the dark and seedy (well, pudgy anyway) underbelly of Dumplingtown without me having to give up the other women in my life (i.e. Little Debbie, Sara Lee, and Dairy Queen), why would I want to emigrate?  

Besides, even after I lose the extra pounds, I still expect to be stopped at Sexyland's borders. 

Sadly, no amount of weight loss cures homely.


Saturday 2 February 2013

Snacks Between Meals: The Beatles vs Cheese

There has been a serious debate going on in our house over the past couple of weeks.  I'm not sure how it started, but it keeps resurfacing over dinner, in the car on the way to school, during commercials while watching TV.  I wish I could say it's an unusually strange topic, but around here this kind of thing is pretty typical.

The question is: The Beatles or cheese?

No, cheese isn't some indie band with an all too clever lower-cased spelling.  We're talking about cheese cheese, the dairy product.  So, the question really comes down to: if you had to choose between the existence of solid milk foods or the seminal britpop band, which would you choose?  And not just for yourself, either.  The losing item gets wiped from all humanity, past, present, and future.  (The Gregsons only argue when the stakes are really high.)

Duncan has basically taken a Swiss stance (the country, not the cheese) and hasn't completely committed to one side or the other, and Alison just thinks it's a stupid question.  (Whatever that means.)  Will comes down strongly on the side of The Beatles, but has always been a bit unenthusiastic about cheese.  I think it's a texture thing.

Me?  I believe The Beatles are the most influential and staggeringly talented band to ever hit the airwaves.  But this is cheese we're talking about!  Can you imagine a world without cheesecake?  Without pepper jack, brie, or asiago?  Without nachos, pizza, or lasagna?  Sorry, Fab Four, you say hello, but I say goodbye.

I don't make this decision lightly.  The musician in me almost weeps at the thought of never hearing "Let It Be" or "Come Together" again, but I did consider all the facts:

Viable Substitutes
  • The Beatles = The Monkees (I could almost live with that)
  • Cheese = Soy Cheese (hell no)

Cultural Significance
  • The Beatles = 20 number one singles in the US, 17 in the UK, covered by thousands of performers (very significant, except maybe for Ringo)
  • Cheese = "Cheesecake" by Louis Armstrong, "That's Amore" by Dean Martin,...um...the Pizza Hut Theme Song? (fine, The Beatles win this one)

Effects of Aging
  • The Beatles = of the four, only McCartney is aging well, and Ringo is faring the worst (and that's even considering the other two are dead)
  • Cheese = the best cheese just gets better with age (none of The Beatles look appetizing with mold on them)

Therefore, when it comes down to a choice between The Eggman or cheese omelets, I will find a way to live in a world lessened by the loss of the profound artistry of "I Am The Walrus".  

Besides, I don't think I have anything to worry about.  Yoko Ono has been a vegetarian for decades, and I still have no problem finding a cheeseburger.  The Beatles?  Less than 18 months after Yoko's appearance, The Beatles were toast.

Long live Gouda!  (Goo goo g'joob.)



Sunday 27 January 2013

Snacks Between Meals: Where in the World is Darin Gregson? Part 2

Sorry.  I'm back after a long absence again.  This time it was because of technical difficulties with the blog's website.  But I've added a few entries (backdated when appropriate), and I hope to get back to being more regular with entries.

And yes, laziness is too a technical diffculty!


Wednesday 9 January 2013

Fleur de Sel

The other night Alison and I went to a French restaurant called Fleur de Sel.  It was a gift from my dragon boat team, and it was nice to finally get out and enjoy it.  It is a very small, warmly decorated restaurant where you sit so close to your neighbors that you can hear their conversations, and when the front door opens everyone shivers as the cold wind blows through the whole restaurant.  These might seem like major inconveniences, but I actually take it as a good sign: if people are willing to put up with such discomforts, the food must be pretty damn good.



I rarely order fish.  I don't dislike fish; I just like the flesh of land-dwelling beasts a lot more.  But when I saw the ahi tuna in a wasabi butter sauce on the menu, I decided to give it a try, but only after asking the waiter if it was real wasabi.

"Oui oui, but of course zee wasabi eez real." Okay, he didn't say "oui oui" but he was definitely French.  He had a strong accent and a naturally patronizing tone that made me feel foolish for asking.

But I had to ask. 

Why?  Because I had just recently learned a terrible secret: the Japanese have been lying to me for literally decades!

You've had wasabi, right?  Ha, wrong!  Almost nobody has actually had wasabi.  It turns out that the stuff they serve at sushi bars and put in those dried out supermarket bento boxes is really just horseradish, mustard, and #%!$-ing food coloring!  (FD&C Blue#1 to be exact, which is a total crock.  Everyone knows that FD&C Blue#2 is the good stuff.)

I found this out by accident when I looked up the ingredients for Blue Diamond Wasabi & Soy Sauce Almonds to see if they contained any real wasabi.  (By the way, if you haven't tried those yet, you gotta get some.  I don't even care that they don't have any real wasabi on them; they've got great bite and go straight up your nose the way I love...no, not the almonds, I mean the effects of the horseradish.)

Anyway, while searching online, I stumbled across several references to this faux-sabi conspiracy, and my eyes were opened to just how enormous the reach of this bold lie extends.  Not only is the stuff from most local providers artificial, but even the imported wasabi (you've probably seen it in those green plastic toothpaste tubes with Japanese characters boldly claiming "Wasabi!" on its front label) contains absolutely no wasabia japonica (yes, that's the scientific name).  Same thing goes for every wasabi-flavored snack I've purchased from import stores:

Wasabi peas?
Fake.

Wasabi potato chips?
Fake.

Wasabi gum balls?
Fake.  And really really disgusting.

After further research, my heart dropped when I realized:

Even though I lived in Japan for nearly two years, I have probably never tasted real wasabi!

I feel like Cookie Monster after being told, because Jim Henson didn't build him a throat, he hasn't actually ever eaten a single cookie.

First it was Pearl Harbor, now this.  (Sigh.)  What else have the Japanese lied to me about?  Is Kobe beef just mad cow leftovers from Britain?  Does Sailor Moon get sea-sick?  Is Mount Fuji only 32 inches tall?  Is tofu really the Japanese version of Soylent Green?  Maybe "banzai!" actually translates to mean "Damn, I thought I had enough fuel for a round trip."

This is why I asked my French server.

Now, it is possible that the bona fide (look at me, using French...or is it Latin?) stuff was used in the sauce.  They might have imported the raw root from new wasabi farms in Oregon (unlikely) or used the powdered variety which, unlike the paste, is sometimes the genuine article.  I'm leaning towards the powder theory because it had none of wasabi's famous sinus-scouring kick; not even a little.  This is the drawback of using anything but the freshly ground vegetable: drying, powdering, freezing, or cooking true wasabi removes most of its zing.  Only the fake variety seems to maintain its tear-inducing power over time.

Still, the ahi tuna was pretty good.  Alison gave me a taste of her maple mustard encrusted rack of lamb, and it was excellent. 

Yes, Alison and I always share each other's food at restaurants.  Now, don't be all "Eww, germs!"  That's nothing compared to what we shared after dinner.  Hey, the kids were at their grandparents for the night, there had been more than a little wine with our meal, and we were feeling naughty.   Don't judge.  We may be in our forties, but we're not dead!  You guessed it.  We had dessert.

Alison ordered the chocolate profiteroles, and I had the creme brulee.  Both were very rich and definitely worth having again.  And the creme brulee had pieces of candied ginger that were a nice touch for the holiday season.


Speaking of nice touches (no, I'm not saying anything about anything that may or may not have happened after dessert...honestly, I can't remember.  Hmm, maybe forty is closer to dead than I thought), the kitchen is open to the patrons' prying eyes, and all of the chefs wore blue and white striped shirts.  They reminded me of the gondoliers of Venice's canals.

Yes, I know that Venice is in Italy, not France, but c'mon, with the tight striped shirt, the red neckerchief, and the little hat with its flowing ribbon, even the Italians probably mistake gondoliers for Frenchmen.