Category: silly

In search of The Perfect Bite

I knew this guy, back in the hazy college days, who really, really loved to eat.

It was a whole fantastic sensory experience for him to have a good meal.

He’d dropped out of college and was doing some freelance cowboying at the time, so he could eat big heavy meals and work it off the next day.

So, obviously, we were fast friends. I also love a good meal (but am less adept at working it off).

This friend introduced me to the concept of “The Perfect Bite.”

Say, for example, you are sitting at Thanksgiving dinner. On your plate is a slab of hot turkey, mashed taters, gravy, stuffing, corn (if you’re into that sort of thing) and cranberries (also a pass for me, but this is for example’s sake).

The Perfect Bite means you take your fork and you get a piece of turkey, some stuffing, a swoop of mashed taters (with gravy on it), some corn and then seal the end with a bit of cranberry.

The Perfect Bite encompasses all that is good on your plate. All the wonderful tastes together to make a forkful of delicious.

The Perfect Bite generally happens during what you consider to be a really, really good meal. It is sort of a way to savor the delicious.

The friend and I, we used to compete on The Perfect Bite. “Look, looky here…I got the perfect bite, look….yuuuuumm…..” as the fork would slide home and the yummy face would come on.

The best time for The Perfect Bite is really as you are getting to the end of your plate of food. Most stuff on there has already managed to mingle over the course of your eating along, so it’s super easy to make a Perfect Bite.

For whatever reason, this concept has stuck with me and I’ve managed to introduce it to The Good Man.

I recently made some kick ass green chile chicken enchiladas. As I ate, from the other side of the table I heard, “hey, look at this! The Perfect Bite!” He had a good piece of enchilada with plenty sauce, beans, salad and capped the fork with BOTH sour cream and guacamole.

It really was a perfect bite and his yummy face proved it was true. I was envious because I no longer had on my plate the resources to make a Perfect Bite. I’d already devoured the guac and sour cream so I had no horse in that race.

Ah well.

I thought about this concept again last night. We splurged on a rib eye steak dinner. We so rarely eat beef anymore, hence the “splurge” part of the deal. Lovely steak, baked tater and steamed asparagus made up the plate.

I kept trying for a Perfect Bite but couldn’t quite get there. Either the potato wouldn’t cooperate and would fall off the fork. Once I lost the meat bite in my puddle of steak sauce. And those dang slidy asparagus spears were too recalcitrant to be the sealing factor on the fork.

So no true Perfect Bite. But I sure had a whole lotta fun trying!

The Irony of the Internets

Oh mighty interwebs, how you amuse me with your advertising and your behind-the-scenes formulas for placing the right ad on the right content.

And so, as I was searching for a delicious, yet not healthy at all, soup recipe, I found this.

Yeah, so given the choice of whatever torture, pill or unguent I have to endure for the “tiny belly” or to nosh on homemade cheddar beer soup, I’m gonna go with the soup.

And the beer. One for the soup, one for the cook.

I’m working up a theory

Oh yes, I’ve got scientific studies to prove it too!

Soon after The Good Man and I started dating, we found we had a certain simpatico that really worked for a relationship.

See, I’m a very tactile person. I have to touch stuff. And when I have a cute boy around, I have to touch. A lot. Not in that naughty way you dirty minded readers are thinking (well, ok, that too). I mean like twirling fingers on an arm, scratching a back, and rubbing a noggin.

Come to find out, The Good Man really likes having the ol’ cabeza massaged. I can usually put him to sleep with gentle noggin rubs.

Hmmm. : puts end of pencil in mouth in a very laboratory scientist sort of way :

Ok, so then, we were at a friend’s home down on the floor playing with their twin toddlers. The girl climbed up into my lap, and I noticed the downy hair on top of her head was sticking up from static. So I took my hand and smoothed her hair flat onto her head. As I rubbed her head, her eyes rolled back into her head and she laid back in my arms.

Hmmm.

Then I was babysitting my friend’s three month old baby. The little one was fussy as heck and fighting sleep. I’d tried bottles, change the nappies, singing, rocking, the swingy chair. Nothing. So, heck, I gave the noggin a shot. I began to gently rub her little dome and before I knew it, she’d nuzzled into my neck and was snoring softly.

Well, well, well.

And THEN I saw this video on ICanHazCheezeburger.com. That toad approximates what The Good Man looks like when I issue scritchin’s.

My final piece of evidence was this past weekend at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. At the splash pool where we could pet Bat Rays, my cousin lured one over and I followed behind him to get my own shot at Bat Ray petting.

I tried to give a firm petting to the headlike lump on top of the ray and I’ll be damned if that Bat Ray didn’t keep swimming back to my hand. It would dip his head right under it like, “scratch that again, lady.”

So here’s my big theory based up by mammal and amphibian trials:

All creatures great and small like to have their noggin skritched.

I know, I know. Groundbreaking work!

Oh My Brain…

I know I have a unique view on the world sometimes.

In fact, I kind of enjoy that.

Sometimes, it wearies the people around me.

Sometimes, it even perplexes me.

An example. A few years back, I was in a department store with a friend. We were looking for a gift for another friend’s wedding. By the escalator, there was a sign. It said:

“Elevator located in China.”

I was honestly confused.

“What the hell!?” I shouted. “What good does an elevator do me all the way over in China? And where is it? Bejing? Tiananmen Square? What the sam hell??”

My patient friend pointed out…”Uh…China…you know, like plates and cups?”

“Oh. That.”

Yeah. I’m sharp as a marble.

What got me thinking about my backwards brain today was when I passed by a local church.

The sign outside declares it to be a “Transfiguration” church.

I’ve never heard of a Transfiguration church, and I’m sure it’s something quite legitimate and spiritual.

But to me, a Harry Potter reader, I can’t help but think….

As people sit there, solemnly praying, you keep hearing that *pop* sound.

The minister says, “Let us pray.”

*pop* He’s a horse.

*pop* A rabbit.

*pop* A cat.

*pop* A goat.

*pop* A donkey.

And let’s be honest, the visual image cracks me up every time.

Every single dingle time I drive past that church.

*pop*!

Hee!

Ugh, what a brain!

Whooopta! ¡Feliz Cumleaños to da Bubble Wrap!

Time to bake a cake, eat a cookie, wear a hat and toot a horn.

We have a fifty year old in the house. Oh yes we do!

Don’t be shy, come forward and take your praise.

Oh Bubble Wrap, you are the best.

Always there when I need you, protecting fragile things.

Providing endless fun and stress reduction with your pop-popping sound as I squeeze the beejebus out of your little bubbly parts.

And when the world went cyber tech, you came along, giving me a faboo iPhone app that lets me pop your virtual bubbles whenever I darn well feel like.

You’ve carefully covered precious cargo and you’ve provided hours of fun.

You are useful, bubble wrap, and I for one can’t imagine my life with out you.

Now, let’s all raise a glass.

Cheers! To bubble wrap’s fifty years. May we have another joyful 50 ahead!