Americans will eat anything if it’s deep-fried.
Deep-fried cardboard doesn’t sound bad to most people.
We know we should eat better. My second cousin twice removed – I’m not sure who had him removed – told me, “There’s only one thing that keeps me from going on a diet – food.”
I sat at the Table of Infinite Knowledge at the Eat Around It Cafe, when one member said, “I have half a mind to eat lutefisk this year.” Three others at the table said instantly, “That’s what it takes.” Another provided a rimshot.
I can’t eat lutefisk due to a wizard’s curse.
It’s easy to eat something that’s the day’s special or for which I have a coupon, but I’ve become an epic failure at buffets. Buffet is an old French word meaning “I’ll bet you can’t eat as much as you used to.”
I’ve eaten a lot of strange things – both highbrow and lowbrow victuals.
I ate étouffée – a spicy Cajun or Creole stew made of vegetables and seafood – in this case crawfish over rice. I’ve eaten things in Louisiana where people took pity on me and didn’t tell me what it was. They didn’t want me to contract the heebie-jeebies. That was an excellent idea because some things I ate were things a Minnesotan would hire an exterminator to get out of the house.
I got a knuckle sandwich for dessert in grade school. I gave it a 1-star.
I’ve eaten fish pickles, pig knuckles, pickled eggs, conch, beef brains, tongue, rattlesnake, Rocky Mountain oysters, calf fries, hot dogs, lutefisk, pickled herring, sardines, mustard-and-sugar sandwiches, poutine and blood sausage (black pudding in the UK), all without a sneeze-guard.
Occasionally, my throat receives a distress signal sent from the taste buds and slams its entrance gate shut. My stomach put me on a watch list since the episode with the fried carp with sprinkles covered in muskrat gravy.
Stewed cobwebs were part of the school lunch program when I was in the seventh grade.
I’ve eaten Skyline Chili, Cincinnati chili and Kentucky chili (Bluegrass chili). Cincinnati chili always has allspice, cinnamon and chile peppers. People sharing my table said it had chocolate, but it didn’t. Kentucky chili looks and tastes like a basic beef chili, except with spaghetti noodles. The Cincinnati version is similar, but the chili is served over a larger amount of spaghetti noodles and topped with an abundance of shredded cheddar cheese. Skyline Chili, a restaurant chain, offers a Cincinnati-style chili made from a thin, Mediterranean-spiced meat sauce containing ground beef, tomato paste and a unique blend of spices. It’s served over spaghetti or hot dogs. Skyline Chili, the official chili of the Cincinnati Bengals and the Cincinnati Reds, operates in Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana and Florida.
I played softball with a pair of brothers. One offered his slightly younger sibling $5 if he’d eat three live crickets, chewing them first. The three crickets were chewed and swallowed. The $5 remains past due. I’ve eaten grasshoppers, ants, crickets and grubs without the promise of pay.
I grew up eating at cafes called Vivian’s in Hartland and Ole’s in New Richland. They taught me I could eat anything if it came with mashed potatoes.
The news reported that a man had been shipwrecked. He gained 15 pounds. He’d been shipwrecked not on a desert island, but on a dessert island. I lost 70 pounds a few years ago. I wasn’t shipwrecked. I was in the UK, betting on the ponies. Never bet on a horse named Izzy Backingup. That’s not true. I’ve never bet on the ponies. I put all my money in pump four. I was going to get a button saying, “I lost 70 pounds. Ask me how.” I’d tell anyone who asked to see their doctor sooner rather than later. I lost weight because of a disease. I became active in the medical community and had no appetite. Gandhi ate more. I no longer cast a shadow. My doctor told my wife to feed me lots of anything I’d eat.
Mary Oliver wrote, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
I gained weight with mine.
I had a spring-mounted boxing glove installed in the refrigerator to curb my appetite.
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