Posts Tagged ‘Good Lord I Love Food’

Killing romance and creating social castes since 2400 B.C.

Killing romance and creating social barriers since 2400 B.C.

During February and March, my sole desire is to hunker down and eat.  Mostly because I peruse cooking blogs when it’s boring and dark outside.  And if life does not instantly hand me pumpkin muffins when I realize I’m craving them, it’s all for naught, “all” being any desire to stay awake past 8 p.m. sans pumpkin muffins.

Lately, I’ve been obsessed with zucchini.  Mostly I chop up the healthy little guys, then douse them in a hefty mass of grated parmesan cheese and salted butter. Bake until crunchy, shriveled and vitamin-deprived.  Mmmmm, eating fresh!

Last night, I brilliantly decided to grate fresh garlic over the cheese. Usually I buy the nice little minced garlic bottle that sits strategically near the avocados and tomatoes produce section. I don’t know about you, but when I see avocados, tomatoes and garlic all in one place, I usually think apple pie. KIDDING! I think guac. Tricky produce-organizers. ‘Cause once you buy guac stuff, you have to buy chips. Then you have to buy salsa to alternate with the guac. Then you have to buy beer. Grocery ripple effect.

Anyway, I frittered away five cloves with a hand-grater. Sadly, the clumps of mashed garlic dropped to the bottom of the pan and became impossible to distribute evenly. Fail.

While washing my face in the next morning, I kept wondering, what is that foul stench?


“Talentless vampire seeking job which requires abstinence from garlic. Skills include walking red carpets with severe bedhead.”

Checked the drain, checked the garbage pail, my breath … then it hit me … my fingers reeked of garlic. But not in a good garlic way. Not in a “my Italian grandmother rocks spaghetti sauce” way. Rather, in an “OMG, where is the rotting squirrel carcass in my bathroom” way.

Unfortunately, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning, and while he was listening to my lungs, heart and telling me to say “Ahhhh,” all I could think was, “Does he think I don’t wear deodorant? Does he think I didn’t brush my teeth? Is he judging me? I am the token person he is going to mock to his family at dinner tonight?”

I expressed my concerns of hygienic perception to my housemate later (she had a garlic encounter, too, last week).

“I think the problem for me was to not get caught randomly smelling my fingers,” she pondered.

Exactly. Not only do I have to worry about people smelling me, but I have to worry about people seeing me worry about people smelling me. Nothing screams “Trust me, I’m wearing deodorant!” like being caught concernedly smelling your fingertips while waiting in line, or in my housemate’s case, before a high-school class of teenagers.

On the plus side, I guess don’t ever have to worry about Kristin Stewart coming anywhere near me.


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