The blackout at the Super Bowl last night did more than just delay the game. It tired me out (to say nothing of cooking that gumbo and cleaning up). So today's post is going to be brief. I'll be back shortly with recipes and other goodies. In the meantime, there's this:
Last weekend I was food shopping with Nina. She was enjoying a Twizzler candy, and as she chewed it, she remarked on how hard it was to finish it. She said, “Dad, this reminds me of that steak we had the other night.” I laughed, and said, “Oh, yeah, I bet. Some of those cuts of grass-fed beef can be really tough.”
I’m always trying to educate the kids food wise, so wanted to remind her what cut of meat that was that we had eaten that had been so tough. “It was a flank steak, I think,” I said, “or something like that.” I was distracted as I was shopping, and I couldn’t really remember. “No Dad,” she said. “It was a skirt steak,” and she was right.
I have a friend at work who is really into music. He once told me, with a touch of pride, that he was “worried” about what he was doing to his kids by educating them in the finer points of twentieth century rock music. His eldest boy, who was about nine, had said to him that the music on the radio now is bad, and that some band his friend liked was “nothing like the Stooges.”
This weekend I was back at the food coop with Nina. She can easily taste the difference between Gruyère and Cheddar, and when she was looking at the display of cheese she was surprised by how Gruyére is spelled. Now that she’s getting old enough to read and buy things for herself, should I be “worried” about what I’m doing to her tastes by having introduced her to Gruyére?