The Accidental Foodie

Euphymisms aren't always good. Well, obviously. Let me just waste some more of your time by stating the obvious. Rain is wet. Mud is dirty. But, back to the point at hand and reason for the outrage that has resulted in this new post.

A couple of coworkers and I were discussing travel and the subject of sweet bread came up. "I've had sweetbread," I announced at which point one of my editors literally recoiled. Then the question I should have pondered prior to this culinary experience popped up- way to go, lightning speed intellect- what exactly is sweet bread?. My editor laughed. My other coworker shook her head in dismay. "Something gross," she offered. So with more than a little dread, I googled it.

Sweetbreads are the thymus glands of lamb, beef, or pork. There are two different connected glands; one set in the neck and the other near the heart. Although both are edible, the heart thymus gland is generally favored because of its delicate flavor and texture, and is thus more expensive. Typically sweetbreads are soaked in salt water, then poached in milk after which an outer membrane is removed. Once dry and chilled, they're often breaded and fried until crisp. It is also popular to use them as a stuffing or in pâtés.

GASP! It's one thing to consume parts of an animal typically discarded as waste but to eat the scraps of an animal who doesn't have the sense to disregard its own feces (ala Samuel Jackson in Pulp Fiction) disgusts me to an almost unprecedented degree. I say almost because when I lived in Corpus Christi, I made the mistake of ordering lengua at a Mexican fast food place. When I asked the cashier what it was she pointed at her tongue and genius thought she meant it was spicy. It wasn't until I bit into it and realized some cow's tongue was on top of mine that I made the connection. If there's a Darwin award for food dummies, I'm a top contender.

Put on Your Thinking Caps!

There was an overwhelming response to my rather lame post in which I toyed with the idea of firing up the blog again. Thank you for your comments. However, one friend suggested changing the name of the blog and hence "changing my destiny." It's a notion that's surfaced before. Is the self-proclaimed title of Love Pariah, actually a self-fulfilling prophecy? But changing the name of the blog would be breaking the thread of posts, erasing that history and starting from a clean slate. Wait. That's not really a con is it?

I know we're all sick of hearing about polls after a protracted presidential campaign, but if you could indulge me here... What should a new blog be named? Something reflective of its content but perhaps not so... doomed.

Here are some options, feel free to weigh in with your own ideas.
Cautiously Optimistic
The Sun Will Come Out
Getting Real
Jurassic Journalist

OK, the last one is a bit obtuse. After nearly failing my science requirement in college, I decided to shift from Chemistry to Geology for the 9 credits I needed to graduate. I still don't get why a journalism major even needs a science requirement. Unless, you want to work for Popular Science in which case you're a big nerd clearly overqualified for our field of study and should just over-achieve ass straight to Nat Geo! Anyway, I figured licking rocks was easier than memorizing formulas. But I still had to memorize. In geology it was the geologic periods. I employed a mnemonic device to help me. So Jurassic was someone asking me for directions.. "Your asking" (Jurassic) the wrong person, "Try asking" (Triassic) Cretaceous. I know, dumb but it worked!

How do I figure Jurassic Journalist? Well, first off you probably noticed the alliteration. But I like what Jurassic represents. According to wiki:
Jurassic Period did not witness any major extinction event. The start and end of the period are defined by carefully selected locations; the uncertainty in dating arises from trying to date these horizons.

Don't you just love it?! Nobody dates my horizons, you got that fruitcake? Damn straight. What? Tell me. I'm standing by....

Just a random post

I'm hooked on this new HBO series called True Blood. It's not just something I enjoy watching, it's literally the highlight of my week. That's more a testament to how empty my life is than the show. Seriously, whenever I get really down about the fact that Dan and I couldn't make things work the tenth time we tried, he actually says to me, "Why don't you go home tonight and watch True Blood?" The really sad part is that it momentarily lifts me from my funk. The only time it doesn't work is if it's Monday and I'm caught up on all the shows. Now I have to wait a whole week before I can rely on it for my silver lining.

Last night, I got to watch two in a row, an embarrassment of riches. I had to fire my personal trainer when I moved because I didn't have a gym where I could work out with him anymore. We tried to work out in the park, on the pier, etc. But it wasn't the same and I hated the idea of working out in my old building where I might run into my ex-roommate. She gave me 7 weeks to find a new place to live after she decided to play mistress to a married colleague from work. We lived together for almost three years and she told me in an email. But I think it was for the best because I'm really too old to be living with a roommate even if it is in the Trump Building.

That's all for now. Someone made a recent comment and it prompted me back to this blog. Since I've been toying with the idea of writing a book, I thought I should at least exercise this creative muscle. Before it becomes all flabby like the other ones. I'm channeling Eeyore at the moment but I'm about to go join the gym nearby and then I'll be all buffed and shit... and then I can channel G.I. Jane.