I have a very special, awesome surprise for you: today's guest is the Suniverse, who is the author of her eponymous blog. And you know what? She's funny, and clever, and that kind of amazing that you only find once in a while. Please, read away:
Food, glorious food.
First, I want to thank Bill for being so kind as to invite me to post on his blog, and then being even kinder for not telling me to go suck it when it took me over a month to get him this post. I am a horrible person.
And that's not the only reason. I'm horrible about the topic of food.
Food is amazing and wonderful and tasty and when you're hungry? It's the best.
It's also weird and bizarre and when you come from an immigrant family, it can be a little scary. Actually, there are only a few scary things for me [mostly the giant buckets of smelt, the lamb's head that stares at you while people - like your own mother! - start stripping it for weird bits of flesh, and that gross onion stew that permeates the entire house].
The other stuff? I'm fine with. Yummy little bits of meat that have been sauteed until they are super crispy are not merely pieces of fat, they are DELICIOUS. That baked bit of lamb that's crispy and tasty? OH HOLY HELL, get out of my way. The crusty bit of dough that has no filling? GIVE IT TO ME, PLEASE. My sister and I discussed these delicacies, much to my future [non-immigrant] mother-in-law's horror, at the dinner the night before I got married.
The husband, who is generic American, has done a good job enjoying - well, maybe enjoying is too strong a word, maybe he's done a good job just eating the food that is foisted upon him at various parties and dinners. He deals well with pots of beans and lamb, pastries that are filled with he knows not what and the giant portions that come with them.
I, on the other hand, have a really hard time adjusting to American food. I mean, it's ubiquitous and I eat it all the time and I cook it, but it never ceases to amaze me that people will make regular American food for a party. Where is the painstakingly made platter of sweets? You BOUGHT THAT CAKE? What's wrong with you? You're making dinner and it's a something you'd eat on a weeknight? WHAT? WE'RE COMPANY!
I get very weird about that kind of thing. It's a culture shock for me, despite the fact that I was born and raised in this country and lived on my own and married an American. There are some things, evidently, that are simply ingrained in the genes, and my expectation of food that has been slaved over is one of them.
When are you inviting me for dinner?
Me! I'm inviting you over for dinner. and I'll get my wife to cook something outrageously rare and difficult. I'm sure she won't mind. In the meantime, while she's whipping it up, head over to the Suniverse's blog and get your immigrant on. Best part of her blog? The obscure scrubs quote at the top.