Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Food Fundies Ferment Frustration

I was once told that I shouldn't eat a certain prepackaged frozen microwavable dinner because no part of it had ever been touched by human hands. The person scolding me was your typical organic, all natural, vegetarian, self-righteous food fundamentalist who loves to judge other people for their inferior culinary habits. I dated a bunch like him when I was young. It occurred to me much later that if my dinner had been touched by human hands, it would have been the hands of exploited underpaid migrant workers. I couldn't possibly win that conversation.

I'll never forget the argument I had with the woman who would only buy brown eggs. Because they are brown, she opined, they are inherently better than white eggs. I insisted there was no difference except the brown ones cost more. I will concede that in many cases, brown is better than white. Rice and bread, for example. But after consulting with a doctor, a farmer, and a software engineer, we decided that the color of the egg is determined by the breed of the chicken and otherwise is no different.

Like other fundamentalists, food fundies think their's is the only right way and they will endlessly harass everyone else until we are just like them.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all for ethical and environmentally sustainable food production. I just happen to think that awareness raising can be done without clobbering people over the head with righteousness. I'm not saying all vegetarians, for example, are guilty of such extreme obnoxiousness. But those who are give all the rest a bad name.

Food righteousness is one thing. Food pretentiousness is another.

My family recently gathered for dinner at a very expensive Denver restaurant which simply dripped with self-importance. I won't say what restaurant, but it was in LoDo on Market just off 16th Street. This place's specialty is "molecular gastronomy." The concept is that the food would be prepared scientifically, frozen or heated to extreme temperatures and processed in such a way that our taste buds would squirt with ecstasy. I didn't think it was that good. Some of it was just weird. Why would I want a piece of fruit that had been pulverized into a ribbon swooping the length of my place setting? Just give me the original piece of delicious fresh fruit!

My grandmother mastered cooking the old-fashioned way: with her traditional electric oven and smooth glass stove top. Her cooking was an art form, not science, done by feel with the benefit of decades' experience.

I'm hungry. Maybe there's a mass produced prepackaged dinner in the freezer.

Friday, February 7, 2014

Valentine's Day - Secret Santa All Over Again

I'm waiting for the inevitable suggestion from a team building enthusiast at the office, that we do something dreadful for Valentine's Day.

One year, everyone actually decorated shoe boxes with slots in the lids so that we could deliver little greeting cards to each other's desks. Just like back in grade school, you could measure a person's popularity by the number of Valentines crammed into their box. Many had little chocolates attached. Some came in envelopes which exploded in glitter upon opening.

It was hell.

On top of that, I was still reeling from the secret Santa fiasco.

The prior Christmas I decided to really participate fully and be a part of the team. I went to the company holiday party. I also signed up for the secret Santa exchange. In case you are lucky enough to have avoided it, Secret Santas are usually chosen in a drawing. Each person is assigned to be the secret Santa of another person, buying them little gifts during the time leading up to Christmas. The "fun" part is keeping your identity from the person you are giving to and guessing who all that junk appearing on your desk is coming from. It  usually culminates right before Christmas in joyful exclamations of surprise when Santas' identities are revealed.

I drew my secret Santa name and planned out a month's worth of toys, coffee, and gift certificates. Pushing the monetary limit, I sneaked my coworker her favorite snacks. I put a decorative stocking full of swag on her desk. I bought a personalized dog toy for her dog.  I was kicking Santa ass.

Until the person to whom I was secretly giving all this junk actually looked me in the face and told me she was dissatisfied with the gifts she was getting from her secret Santa. They were cheap, she said.

I was pissed.

She didn't, supposedly, know it was me, but that shouldn't matter. One shouldn't complain about a secret Santa to anyone, just in case. And if she did know it was me, that's even worse.

I was so upset that I decided right there and then never to participate in secret Santa again.

And just when I was getting over it a month and a half later, boom! Valentine's Day.

I think the office should be a place where you go to work. But since Christmas, we've had a couple of birthdays (I must confess, I do like cake), a pot luck, and several "wear your favorite sports attire" days leading up to the Super Bowl. We sure have a lot of fun in my office. With just a week left, dare I hope that Valentine's Day will pass unnoticed?