Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
However, I was told this was wasn't a graduate thesis, so I'll get to the point.
Bananas….. Hate 'em.
I want to love them. I hear rumors that bananas are one of the tastiest things on the planet. The world's MVP of fruits. Hells bells, they even come in nature's perfect packaging.
But I can't do it. I can't eat banana anything. I wish I could. Whenever I order smoothies at juice bars, I tell them to hold the banana. The counter person always looks at me as if I'm insane and points out: "It's not going to be creamy if there's no banana in it."
"Yeah," I always respond. "I know. But I don't like bananas." "But--I don't--what's wrong with you?" They always huff as if I just told them their baby was kinda funny looking.
Back in the Rustbelt, I used to frequent a juice joint called "Liquid Planet." Out of their thirty two smoothie selections, only one was naturally made without bananas. And it was aptly titled: "The Mother to Be." I could never order it with a straight face.
That's why I make smoothies at home.
This has been a life long condition of mine. There was never a time that the banana and I were friends. Somewhere in the cluttered basement of my parent's house in Cleveland, Ohio, there is a dog eared copy of Dr. Seuss' "All About Me" that I filled out when I was five. Under the section of foods I don't like, BANANAS is scrawled boldly in black crayon. When unabashed carnivores find out I'm a vegan, their comments are usually pretty unoriginal. My personal favorite is: "So how come you're not skinny?" Because, you know, us vegans eat nothing but nuts and berries... My least favorite is: "Okay, so say you're stranded on a deserted island and there's nothing to eat but fish. Would you eat it then...?" At that point in the conversation, I usually remember that I left the oven on and have to rush home right away. But thinking about it in this context, I really hope there are some effing mango trees on this deserted island so many meat eaters are convinced I'm gonna wind up on one day. Because if all I got are bananas, I'm screwed.
-Meghan Louise Wagner
Sunday, February 21, 2010
‘Who wants to go for ice cream cones?’ No interest in that for this junior poindexter. There’s the flat bottomed cone melting soggy w/ its pressed sugar design & smell & disintegrating paper texture when the ice cream interacts w/ it on any Midwestern hot summer day & night. Sugar cones looked better but leaked steady from the bottom & held the scoop most precariously. If the scoop didn’t fall off right away, then each drip hinted at impending disaster. The scoop never just fell off, it always catapulted onto shirt, pants & shoes in evil trajectories. Nothing but one big mess. I contented myself w/ a quick lick around the edges before sharing the rest w/ black Labrador Mac. He was well suited to eat cones, with his self-cleaning fur coat & his ability to lick food off of any surface w/out contracting lockjaw. My ice cream epiphany occurred one day at a south suburban Dairy Queen reading the menu from the back seat of a two door cougar w/ an arm around Mr. Mac. What about this Banana Split? Three scoops of ice cream & three sauces – tried & true strawberry & chocolate & exotic pineapple too, all nestled between a split banana & served in a paper boat, w/ a Spoon. No looking back. After that, scenes of my tearful spotted peers attempting to finish a cone w/out catastrophe never dissuaded me from marching up to the window w/ confidence & order “One banana split please & a small vanilla cone for the dog!’ MC
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
My phobia goes back to my grandmothers kitchen. Usually people have warm fuzzy thoughts about grandmas and kitchens. But not me. My grannie's idea of cooking was boxed mac and cheese and canned veggies. Her veggie of choice was canned french cut green beans. Served warm out of the microwave w/ a generous dollop of margarine, or as we say in the south "Oleo". I didn't understand all canned veggies have that sort of gray, soft, mushy quality to them. Grandma never did take the time to find more delicious options for us. She was a busy lady- the only grandma I knew who worked. Plus she had way more important things to do like- gambling, smoking, cursing, and driving like a bat out of hell. I'll take that kind of grandma any day. It was definitely worth the torture of the green beans.