Is the word “foodie” in the dictionary yet? What exactly does that word mean? Does it mean that you love food and if so, wouldn’t that pertain to all of us, barring a few anorexics? Come to think of it, even they love food. In fact, probably more than the rest of us which is why they feel compelled to control their “foodie” urges.
Or does the word “foodie” mean someone who eats only exquisite food? I tend to think of it as the latter and therefore, do not put myself in that category. I am reminded on a daily basis that I live in a small southern town where you couldn’t find arugula if it were the last green on earth and I dare you to ask the produce manager about pea shoots … what?
But I do find myself planning vacations around feeding. Sometimes I even arrange my daily schedule around food. As an example, I have avoided writing for years by obsessing over what to cook for dinner instead. Man does that kill time. The irony is that once it is decided, purchased, and prepared, my family could care less. My daughter specifically requests Hamburger Helper! What? Are you kidding? I am a gourmet cook and this is line caught sea bass bitch. Well, I don’t actually speak that aloud. But her days are numbered with those kinds of menu requests. She is only twelve so I figure she’ll start dieting pretty soon and what I cook won’t matter anyway.
My husband would eat a sautéed shoe and genuinely thank me after for preparing such a wonderful meal. He has evolved somewhat just by the virtue of existing in close proximity to me. He does have a slightly more discerning pallet now but still pretty much screams though the Chick-Fil-A drive thru everyday for lunch. I thought of donning a t-shirt that reads, “Eat these nuggets” with circles around my nipples. But I’m pretty sure he would weigh his options carefully on that one. He might even ask if they came with honey mustard to which I would reply, “These nuggets are piping hot, and the sauce is homemade.” He might convert for that. Might.
So, where do I, the “non-foodie” food lover, fall on the food spectrum? My favorite thing to eat is ... wait for it … cue the mariachi band … chips and salsa. How anti-climactic and slightly pathetic, huh? Now you understand why I can’t, with any shred of respect, call myself a “foodie.” Let me specify that it must be good salsa and no, Pace does not make salsa. And I prefer warm chips.
Oh, I love other things too … sushi, medium rare steak with a salty crust, soup of any kind and of course, Thai ... but only really good Thai. I’ve never actually been to Thailand, so what do I know, but do not take me to a restaurant that serves Japanese and Thai. Frankly, I’m insulted by that. We may be round eyed Americans but we do know there is a difference. Most of those restaurants are usually owned by Vietnamese anyway so what do they care. But it matters not because over Sushi and Thai, I crave and lust for chips and salsa.
As a child, I always loved the glamour of a fancy restaurant and today I do still respect ambiance in a dining establishment. However, I have come to prefer the fare to the fanfare. Give me a fluorescently lit hole in the wall serving authentic Thai food or a twelve-seat bar counter with the freshest sushi and don’t even get me started on taco trucks … mucho gusto!
