by TEJ | Mar 9, 2022 | Fun and Leisure Humor
Ah, the frustrations and anguish of being a picky eater. This might as well have been me when I was a young child, being asked to eat my broccoli. Wouldn’t eat it then. Won’t eat it now. It’s not easy being someone like
me when you’re at a Lebanese bistro that only serves hummus and lamb.
Throughout our nation’s fractious history, there has always been discrimination, hatred and intolerance directed at people who were different. You might think, as someone who is a well-educated middle-class, white male who went to an all-boys private college preparatory school, that I’m a member of the white male, oppressor class. And my wife would agree with you 100%.
But the truth, however, is more complicated. I’m also a member of TWO rarely mentioned, unfairly treated minority groups. For one thing, like millions of other white males in their sixties, I suffer in silence from the cruel plight of male pattern baldness. Tragically, there is NO CURE. (Okay, I’ve just been informed by my wife that there are about five dozen known cures, ranging from Rogaine to hair replacement, so, um, let’s skip over to my second minority group).
More importantly, I’m also a member of one of the last remaining discriminated minorities that you will never read about in the mainstream media or on Twitter. I’m talking about people like me who are picky eaters.
As “highly selective epicures”, we’ve been ridiculed, mocked, humiliated, and misunderstood all our lives. It’s time someone shined a spotlight on the longstanding pattern of mistreatment people like me have endured from all those foofoo foodies in our lives who think they’re superior to us just because they like Escargots à la Bourguignonne and people like me have no idea what those words mean.
I’ve always been a finicky eater, or as I prefer to be called, a “culinarily-restricted food connoisseur.” In my case, it dates back to my childhood. When I grew up, my mom, who was raised in a small town in Ohio, always served us traditional midwestern meals: Cereal or eggs and toast for breakfast; ham and cheese sandwiches or chicken noodle soup for lunch; and for dinner, some type of beef, along with potatoes, corn, green beans, and such – classic American food from the 1950s. From an early age, my food mantra has been, “If it used to moo, it’s something I’ll chew.”
My mom never served us exotic foreign foods (unless you count pizza, which I’m told came from Italy). So, like my siblings, I grew up with an extremely limited food palate. My wife, on the other hand, will eat ANYTHING. Jellied octopus? No problem. Fried rattlesnake? Sounds fun! Pickled herring? Pass the plate. Cheese-glazed locusts? That’s disgusting. But if you ask my wife, she’ll say, “I’ll give it a try.”
Whenever we dine out with another couple, it’s always the same uncomfortable negotiation about where to go for dinner:
My wife: Where does everybody want to go for dinner?
Me: Have you guys tried Five Guys Burgers?
My wife’s friend Janet: Oh, oh, I know of this great Thai-Vietnamese place. They serve the best tofu-infused frog legs. It’s to die for. But I also read about their scorpion mushroom cold soup that sounds yummy.
This is the kind of meal I was raised on. A nice medium rare steak, baked potato stuffed with butter and bacon bits, and maybe some green beans. But most of our friends are hardcore foodies. And you won’t hear them
suggesting we go to my favorite restaurant: Outback Steakhouse. Sigh.
My wife: That sounds delicious.
Me: Just spitballing here. But what about Golden Corral?
Janet’s husband, Bruce: Hey, how about that new Afghani-Lebanese place that just opened up in a former homeless shelter? I hear their horse embryo kabob is amazing.
Me: Any takers for Buffalo Wild Wings?
My wife: Or we could try this place I’ve always wanted to check out. It’s an Indian restaurant called the Maharaja Exotic Spice Club. Tres chic. A friend told me that you simply MUST try their spider monkey in barnacle sauce.
Me: Ew. Do they serve anything you might find on Old MacDonald’s farm, like, say, chicken?
All of them: Don’t know. But we’re sure you’ll find something you’d like.
It’s always like this. Last time, we tried an Egyptian joint where one of our friends insisted I try the fried cow brain (and yes, that’s a thing) just to push myself out of my comfort zone. I graciously declined. Then, after dinner, someone suggested we go somewhere else for dessert. Momentarily I got excited thinking we could check out an ice cream parlor or frozen yogurt store. But my hopes were dashed when I was outvoted. We ended up at a small, greasy Chinese food cart standing on the sidewalk, as the group ordered sweet potato ginger dessert soup and bubble tea. I would have had far more fun stopping by the ER instead, to get my stomach pumped from whatever it was I consumed at dinner.
I know my narrow, boring menu of preferred food options is annoying to my friends. I can feel their sneering, haute cuisine condescension when they order their Moroccan Couscous with roasted cabbage, then roll their eyes as I request my chicken and rice. I know they’re judging me.
When the ordeal, I mean meal, is mercifully over, and everybody raves about their fancy four-course tofu repast, I quietly nod that my Caesar salad was “fine.” I try not to draw attention to my embarrassment – because my dining companions are usually plenty adept at doing that for me without my help.
What is this mouth-watering meal you’re looking at? Beats the hell out of me. I’ve no idea. But I am sure my wife will love it. Mine is a much simpler food palate, and sometimes it gets awkward when I don’t even recognize the names of the entrees on the menu. I guess I’ll just have the salad – again.
I ‘ve been a fussy eater my entire adult life. It’s just a quirk about me that I’ve come to accept is one of my most obvious character flaws. In my defense, over time, I have tried to expand my culinary tolerance. There are several foods I used to avoid which I now willingly consume, such as salmon, crab, scallops, fajitas, cucumbers, and asparagus, to name a few. But no, I’m still not going to try the cow brains, thank you very much.
So, I am making slow (if you ask my wife, excruciatingly slow) progress. But the next time we’re out to dinner, if you offer me some of your Brussels sprouts, please don’t be offended when I politely decline. And don’t bother suggesting I try one of your raw oysters. That’s just disgusting.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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© Tim Jones, View from the Bleachers 2022
by TEJ | Mar 12, 2019 | Lifestyles humor
Putin vs. Poutine. One is an evil, deadly killer that over time has ruthlessly attempted to slowly eat away at and destroy the safety of an unsuspecting country. The other is Vladimir Putin.
Every day I read another news story citing Russia’s ongoing attempts to de-stabilize America. And then there’s the increasing specter from China, with its treacherous plans to steal all our technology and hack all our phones.
We’re also told to be wary of the menace from our southern border, where thousands of terrorist Hispanic children with their Hello Kitty backpacks are preparing to invade us.
As serious as these threats are from our east, west and south, our government, in its futile efforts to protect the American people, is looking in all the wrong directions. The real peril – and it is a formidable one – is coming at us from the north!
I’m talking about the People’s Socialist Republic of Canada. I have always distrusted Canadians – especially this one particularly beautiful redhead “comrade” I have long suspected of being a spy – my wife. And seriously, how can any country be that nice?
It’s not the Russian Bear we should be worried about. It’s the great white Polar Bear lurching towards our 5,525 mile-long unprotected northern border. Canada may not have the military clout to conquer us (their entire military could fit into a Walmart Super Store). No, their tactic is far more devious and subtle. You’ve heard the adage, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”? Well, through the stomach is also the way to our demise – and it is how they plan to kill us.
How do I know this? Because I recently visited a Canadian family in Vancouver, BC. We took walks together, chatting about the challenges of living in a northerly country with only four hours of sunlight on a good day. We pondered whether Canadians will ever learn how to spell words like “color” and “theater” properly. We laughed. We bonded. I thought they were my friends. They even forgave me for living in a country that elected a president who thinks Canada’s capitol is the North Pole. (Every American knows Canada’s capitol is Toronto.)
The entire time I was in this perplexing alien land, folks were extremely polite and hospitable. My guard was down, and so they lulled me into a false sense of acceptance – and trust. Too late, I learned that secretly, they all despise Americans. Why? Perhaps they envy our ingenuity in creating Disneyland and the diaper alarm. Or maybe their shame over our women’s hockey team beating theirs for the 2018 Olympic Gold medal was too much. The truth is, I now believe my hosts were trying to kill me the entire time, and I have definitive proof.
On my final day there, my Canadian “friends” took me out to a popular local eatery for a last meal before I headed back home to the states. The specialty was a popular traditional Canadian meal called poutine (“poo-teen”) and they insisted I try it. I had no idea they intended this to literally be my LAST MEAL.
I know, you’re saying, “Tim, you sound paranoid!” But let me explain. This meal was created by the most dangerous specie of Canadian: the French Canadians – and is composed of greasy French fried potatoes mixed with large chunks of cheese curds, smothered in a thick blanket of beef gravy – or as it’s better known, the Three Pillars of Death. The portions are huge. The “Child Size” is so named, I believe, because it’s roughly the size of a toddler. My theory is that poutine was originally used as a substitute for mortar to adhere the ice blocks together on igloos.
Flashback to the cozy scene at the restaurant. Within minutes of gorging on this lard-based sludge with the consistency of wet cement, I could barely stand up. My dinner-mates were ever so solicitous as they ushered me into my car and bid me a fond farewell. I could hardly stay awake on the three-hour drive home. I could have died in a car crash – which in retrospect, clearly was their plan all along.
Poutine – a French Canadian dinner staple consisting of French fries, cheese curds and beef gravy that has become Canada’s signature meal – or as I call it, The Artery Assassin.
In doing research for this article (why are you laughing at the thought I might do research?), I learned that poutine is insanely high in saturated fat, cholesterol, and refined carbs, and causes instantaneous thickening of artery walls. In fact, a single serving (typically 5,000 ounces) can kill you (although in full disclosure, that’s more likely due to the waiter deliberately dropping the ponderous plate onto your head at the sound of your American accent.)
Fortunately, for me, I only ate a small portion of my 64-ounce “Infant” serving, or else, I’m fairly certain I would have suffered a heart attack – or at least a really bad case of indigestion.
What the mainstream media won’t tell you is that it’s all part of a nefarious plot to invite Americans to come to Canada, to help prop up their faltering economy, and then, when we least suspect it, serve us a truck-bed serving of poutine, so we’ll all keel over from cardiac arrest. Then they’ll take our cars, break into our homes –and steal our flat screen TVs and jewelry – while leaving a very thoughtful apology note on the kitchen counter.
I now believe Canadians are hellbent on destroying America. They have long been jealous of us, mainly because they are sick and tired of the NFL drafting all the best football talent before the CFL gets a pick. Their plan is to take us out, one unsuspecting football fan at a time, by offering to make us home-cooked meals of their artery-clogging poison.
You may be asking yourself, “Hey, if poutine is so deadly, why do Canadians keep eating it, and why aren’t they dying from it?” – to which I say: you ask really annoying questions. You’re forgetting that they’ve had a century to build up an immunity to this deadly concoction. They also drink maple syrup straight from the jar and consume Canadian bacon by the shovel-full, and yet somehow survive. Those bastards have arteries of steel.
America, it’s time to stop falling for all the Fake News stories about Russia, China and Mexico trying to undermine our great country. Our real enemy will be invading from the north. And they know the fastest way to bring us to our knees is through our pie holes.
Tonight, when you tuck your kids in bed, tell them you love them, promise never to make them write everything in two languages, and be sure never to let them visit Canada. Because if they do, they may never return, thanks to a poutine overdose – or perhaps because they will be duped by Canadians’ devious displays of hospitality, generosity and the country’s incredible natural beauty. Don’t say you weren’t warned.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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© Tim Jones, View from the Bleachers 2019
by TEJ | Oct 3, 2018 | Lifestyles humor
In the past two years, our nation has become increasingly polarized. We’ve become a divided nation, with people firmly rooted in one camp or the other. There appears to be no end in sight to the name-calling and stereotyping. We’ve even taken to unfriending people on Facebook simply because they don’t agree with us on this fractious issue.
I am, of course, talking about the seismic upheaval created by perhaps our country’s most contentious debate: Which is better, pie or cake? If you’re expecting me to be the voice of moderation, forget about it. Because the answer is so obvious. CAKE IS WAY BETTER THAN PIE!
Go ahead and disagree if you like. That just means you’re dead to me. You clearly are living in Crazy Town! To all those Piehards out there, I say: LET THEM EAT CAKE!
Now let’s get one thing out of the way right up front. You pienosaurs tout the slogan “as American as apple pie.” Nice try. That saying became popular back in the 1850s. You know what else was popular back then? Slavery – something no cake aficionado would ever condone.
If you love America, then in this food fight you’d choose cake. Oh sure, pie was pretty cool once – back in the 1920’s, sitting on the window sill of your great grandmother’s kitchen. But wake up. It’s 2018. Pie is so 20th century. If you ask me, pie is nothing more than a glorified, overstuffed pop tart. Cake, on the other hand, is almost a euphoric experience. You think I’m half-baked making that claim? Then you’ve never tasted red velvet cake. What a pitiful life you must lead. (more…)
by TEJ | Jun 11, 2014 | In the News Humor, Lifestyles humor
It seems every week there is a new study about yet another popular food staple that has been linked to cancer or heart disease. It’s all very confusing. First experts tell you that grape juice is a heart-healthy beverage. Then other experts claim that it’s bad for you (containing as much sugar as soft drinks).
As one of the nation’s leading nutrition experts, I have compiled a comprehensive list of unhealthy foods. Avoid these foods and you should be able to lead a long and healthy life – assuming, of course, you don’t live in Afghanistan, Somalia or Detroit, in which case all bets are off.
FOODS TO AVOID
Cake, cookies, candy and ice cream. When I first discovered that these foods were considered unhealthy, it came as quite a blow. For years I had considered these to be the four basic food groups. But apparently no longer. They are all high in sugar, carbohydrates and polyunsaturated fat. Avoid these at all costs – unless you prefer to be happy.
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