New Levels of Dietary Insantity

My name is JediMama, and I love food. Let's get that right out there in the open now. Chinese, Thai, Italian, Mexican, German, Middle-Eastern, American...it's all good. I pride myself in my culinary diversity and tolerance. Rare is the food that I don't like -- except parts that once performed bodily functions for an animal. Ew. I'll pass on the tripe, cow's tongue, liver, and anything else that ever filtered, masticated (hehe..."masticated"), extracted, or excreted. And while I'm on that topic, let's just get completely real here for a second. "Tripe" is some fancy word that someone came up with to disguise that you are eating the lining of an animal's stomach. Let me give you a second to digest THAT. Yeah, ewwwwwwwwwww, right?

That being said, I must say that sometimes in my endeavors to concoct something that will hit that little craving spot juuuuuust right, I come up with some pretty weird stuff. Like the time I thought sprinkling hamburger meat with cinnamon would give it a nice savory, down home flavor. What the heck? It worked for Laura Ingalls Wilder in Little House on the Prairie. Of course she used chicken. But whatever. I was also 10 when I did this, so to hell with reasoning. I'm still trying to live that one down.

Other times, however, I hit upon something that makes my tastebuds wake up, turn their little beady heads to each other and say, "Wait a minute...wait a minute! YES! Get ready fellas, JACKPOT!" One such occasion was in college, when a friend introduced me to the delicacy that is hot buttered movie popcorn mixed with plain chocolate m&m's. Now wait a minute...don't go. It sounds gross. Not stomach-lining gross, of course, but one does not typically think to mix such yin and yang together. I mean, a CROP product mixed with sweet chocolate? I say to you today, YES. After all, what are chocolate chip cookies but flour, butter, sugar, and chocolate? Crops and chocolate, people. It works. Embrace it. Try it and see if it doesn't.

Okay, so yesterday 2:00 p.m. rolls around and I realze that everyone in my house has been fed except Mama. I peruse the pantry...Cookie Crisp cereal, pretzels, fruit roll ups, Ritz crackers, raisins, (who the heck spilled this bottle of food coloring in here???). Nope. Not doin' it for me. Check the fridge...grapes, milk, eggs, leftover chicken, tortillas, cheese...(what the hell is THAT in that container?)...a-HA! Hot dogs. Fresh. And for once I actually have both buns and dogs at the same time. And the buns are pillowy fresh. Yep, we have a winner. Hot dog it is.

One thing I must interject here is that I almost never do anything the ordinary way. I wish I could. I do. It would have saved me from having to design, cut and sew 13 Jedi robes this week. But I always have to do just a little more. It's an illness. So in keeping with this trait, I decide that my usual ketchup, mustard and sweet relish hot dog needs more pizazz. I'm out of onions, which already is deflating my joy at having found something to fill my crave. My mom always takes those little dehydrated onion flakes and soaks them in water, then puts those on her dogs. I'm not keen on that. Number one, I don't think they have the best flavor. Number 2, I sort of feel bad for them. They are plucked from the field, dehydrated, minced, and entombed in a spice jar (or in my case, since this particular batch came from my beloved bulk warehouse, Costco...entombed in a 62-gallon jug). It's almost like they have been laid to rest. Then here comes Joe Blow who decides to rehydrate them from their little onion slumber and slather them all over a processed meat byproduct for mastication (*snicker* -"mastication" again) and digestion. Barbaric.

"Hmmmmmm," says I, tapping my fingers across my chin. "What would add some pizazz to my pork product?" I glance over and notice my 72-pound bag of French's Fried Onions. The wheels turn...I reach for the bag...

Heaven! (You have to say this with the high-pitched, sing-songy voice like multitudes of angels descending from the clouds. Please take a moment and do that. Otherwise you lose the impact of the joy my buds were feeling. They were in there high-fiving each other, I swear.)

So yes, I have sunk to new lows. I'm sorry that I need to drag you all down with me. I just know that a few will be busting out that French's can at the next weenie roast. Mmmmm...processed mystery meat in a processed white-flour bun, topped with deep-fried goodness...I'm the picture of perfect health. (My checkup labs came back today...cholesterol 184...I'm still good...)