I had the supreme privilege of being asked to go on down to Pomona College and regurgitate what little I’ve managed to figure out about food writing to some very bright undergrads for a few hours last night. What they usually do Wednesday nights from 7-9:50 is have serious discussions about race and gender and politics in their food studies class. What they did last night was eat a food product they did not recognize and attempt to describe it. I then rewarded them with chocolate. But then I made them describe that, which probably took some of the fun away for them. And I made them try and describe it to someone who’d never had it in an effort to help that person figure out if they would like to try it. So the term “chocolatey” was out. But man did they come up with some good stuff. Their young, fresh palates even figured out, basically, what the mystery food was.
Want to join in the fun? Track down some gjetost* and write a sentence or two describing it. Not your opinion of it. It. If you want to throw in your opinion that’s fine, I suppose, but that’s the easy part. If you’d like to share it with the class, I’m sure we’d all appreciate it.
So that was me torturing others. I flew back today and had lunch with a friend. But now I wonder: Is she friend or foe? She took me to 900 Grayson where she suggested I order a Demon Lover. Since the Demon Lover is fried chicken on a waffle with cream gravy, I, being no fool, ordered it. Oh. My. God. She was right. She warned me. It will haunt my dreams. I will die wishing I’d eaten more of them, I’m sure of it. Crunchy and creamy and a bit spicy and just so much fat and flavor without being greasy or overly unctuous and coating your mouth in the unpleasant way and the chicken was so tender deep inside that spicy crunchy coating and there was so much of the coating, which is always the best part of fried chicken, and and and…. I couldn’t eat the whole thing. I just couldn’t. I wanted to. But I couldn’t. So I took about a third of it home. I meant to share it with my family, I really did. But I only lasted about an hour and a half in the house with it alone. I wasn’t hungry. In fact, I was still quite full. But I had to eat it. It was sitting on the counter, calling to me.
How did it know my name?
Long story short: I skipped dinner tonight. No little salad. No bit of toast. Just skipped it. I may never eat again. Not, that is, until I can get my hands on another Demon Lover.
* Once again, wikipedia is off. I’ve been to Norway. I’ve seen “gjetost” on the label in the stores.
maris | 31-Oct-08 at 8:17 am | Permalink
900 Grayson looks like quite a place…I can’t believe they have a sandwich called Miss Piggy and The General!