It was with great anticipation that I awaited the arrival of this morning's New York Times, as the Wednesday issue (like the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, and presumably every other national paper) has the beloved Food Section. At this time of the year it usually means the year-end wrap-up of the best of the best recipes of 2010. Boy, was I wrong! While they may have been top recipes in the NYT the very thought of eating broiled sardines, codfish fritters with lamb sausage ragu, chili lobster (Really? Lobster, in chili? Why?!), or celery sorbet (Now come on!), made me want to hurl.
Do people really eat this? And by people I do include the adventurous New Yorkers who, it would seem, are willing to intrepidly devour anything in the name of fashion. I'll never forget watching, in horror, a food program featuring a New York restaurant that served not only beetles and other insects, but live worms to its willing patrons, the latter of which were cultivated by the proprietor on his apartment balcony. Surely, I thought, the waitstaff must be peering out of the kitchen, holding their sides with laughter, as diners who paid top dollar in an effort to be trendy, consumed items that used to get my hands slapped by my mother along with the admonish, "Put that slimy thing down!" (I can't say I disagree.)
So, instead of planning a special meal of recipes from theTimes, I fixed myself a bowl of soul-satisfying steel cut McCann's Irish Oatmeal, and ate it while I watched the rain fall. Drizzled with cream, studded with raisins, and topped with brown sugar, I thought that nothing could be more appealing on this wintry day.
Do people really eat this? And by people I do include the adventurous New Yorkers who, it would seem, are willing to intrepidly devour anything in the name of fashion. I'll never forget watching, in horror, a food program featuring a New York restaurant that served not only beetles and other insects, but live worms to its willing patrons, the latter of which were cultivated by the proprietor on his apartment balcony. Surely, I thought, the waitstaff must be peering out of the kitchen, holding their sides with laughter, as diners who paid top dollar in an effort to be trendy, consumed items that used to get my hands slapped by my mother along with the admonish, "Put that slimy thing down!" (I can't say I disagree.)
So, instead of planning a special meal of recipes from theTimes, I fixed myself a bowl of soul-satisfying steel cut McCann's Irish Oatmeal, and ate it while I watched the rain fall. Drizzled with cream, studded with raisins, and topped with brown sugar, I thought that nothing could be more appealing on this wintry day.
