The blackout at the Super Bowl last night did more than just delay the game. It tired me out (to say nothing of cooking that gumbo and cleaning up). So today's post is going to be brief. I'll be back shortly with recipes and other goodies. In the meantime, there's this:
Last weekend I was food shopping with Nina. She was enjoying
a Twizzler candy, and as she chewed it, she remarked on how hard it was to
finish it. She said, “Dad, this reminds me of that steak we had the other
night.” I laughed, and said, “Oh, yeah, I bet. Some of those cuts of grass-fed
beef can be really tough.”
I’m always trying to educate the kids food wise, so wanted
to remind her what cut of meat that was that we had eaten that had been so
tough. “It was a flank steak, I think,” I said, “or something like that.” I was
distracted as I was shopping, and I couldn’t really remember. “No Dad,” she
said. “It was a skirt steak,” and she was right.
I have a friend at work who is really into music. He once
told me, with a touch of pride, that he was “worried” about what he was doing
to his kids by educating them in the finer points of twentieth century rock
music. His eldest boy, who was about nine, had said to him that the music on
the radio now is bad, and that some band his friend liked was “nothing like the
Stooges.”
This weekend I was back at the food coop with Nina. She can
easily taste the difference between Gruyère and Cheddar, and when she was
looking at the display of cheese she was surprised by how Gruyére is spelled.
Now that she’s getting old enough to read and buy things for herself, should I
be “worried” about what I’m doing to her tastes by having introduced her to
Gruyére?