My mom always told me to slow down when I ate and that I constantly mixed foods together that don’t belong. She definitely has had a point, historically. I mean, I did once put oregano into Pepsi One, hoping to give it the pizazz it lacked after removing all the real sugar. I’ve also tried to make a sandwich involving bananas and hummus. But come, one, some opposing ingredients do go together- take soy milk and OJ, for example- it makes a creamsicle in a glass!
I never saw my dad as a gourmand. He does have a penchant for the extremes. He likes his foods acerbic, oily, and rare. He’s always drank is coffee black. With his sardines he likes spoon fulls of mayo (with anything for that matter). If he gets lamb chops, he wants them bloody. I’m not sure, though, if it’s because he turns up the heat so high that the outside gets scorched before the inside has time to cook, or if he just likes to taste of eating it raw. Either way, there will be a pool of butter the lamb chops get cooked in.
When he goes shopping, he treats it as an opportunity to indulge his fantasies rather than a chance to buy foods that will be useful in keeping him fed for more than two days. There are always the aforementioned lamb chops, heavy whipping cream, scallops, shrimp- i’m still waiting for the lobster tail-sour cream, pepperoni, prosciutto, and for some reason… produce. This man doesn’t know what to do with a cherry tomato, let alone 15 pint sized containers he happened to grab at the church giveaway!
This is a typical fridge sampling of what my dad piles on his plate. Usually his messages are quite vulgar and nonsensical, so I’m amused hearing the run-down. See (or rather hear) what I mean?
“I was thinkin’ of you. I’ve a very diversified breakfast: avacado-spread-dip, mushrooms, hummus… “
For sure, my dad likes to imagine himself a king in his court. I’m not sure if I’m a grape rolled off the old gold plated platter or my own strange kind of nibbler. Like my dad, I do like to eat what I enjoy. And like him, I often experience stomach disorientation, or rather dissonance. I know what I think I like, but soon after I consume anything like cheese, wine, pastries, hell, fried eggs, I feel like I just took one of those miracle medications they advertise with middle to aging white guys (now guys of some other colors) which may have side effects like toe bulging, uncontrollable tingling in unexpected places, or arousal of the bowel that just won’t dissipate.
For sure, I’m a scavenger. I like to think I come from resourceful people on both sides. My uncle, Nundoi knew how to find an entire living room set from looking through curbside freebies–good stuff, too! Solid wood desks, vintage record players, a working TV. And on my dad’s side, they had Yiddishe Kop; the ability amongst Jews in the diaspora… (are all Jews in the diaspora) to problem solve and make light of complicated situations. I’ll take that opened soy milk in my dad’s fridge to make hot chocolate or matcha. I’ll take that Somali rice that someone gave him on the bridge and give it to my chickens. And I’ll throw what’s left from that wilting celery into my soup to round out that broth. Sometimes, I end up rubbing my belly, saying “It’s gonna be okay, I hear you grumblin,'” but at other times, I think, “Abē, you did good, you go on with your urban foraging.” And if that opened pack of prosute is as hard as the sole of a leather boot, well, you just pass that on to the chickens. They’re also Levines.
Recipe for the Zoupp: https://andreasrecipes.com/roasted-tomatillo-soup-with-chicken-sopa-verde-con-pollo/