The days of Massive Family Meals are down to a mere handful, and perhaps one of the reasons, beyond a most lamentable lack of time for such things, is the upsurge in finicky eaters, and I don’t mean two-year-olds in a high chair either:
We live in the golden age of man when it comes to food. We have more than enough to feed all of us, even the poorest of us. We also have every variety of food imaginable. In addition to turkey, I’ll make an authentic Mexican dish with material from Mexico. I’ll have sides and appetizers with ingredients from around the world. Despite this bounty, everyone is now afraid of their food. Food allergies, moralizing and whack-a-doodle dietary fads have everyone looking at their plate with suspicion.
Back when this annual event started, it was easy to cook a bunch of food for a bunch of people. Besides the turkey and sides, we had beer and some store bought desserts. Then vegetarians started to show up followed by vegans. That meant adding dishes for people who don’t eat meat and those who don’t oppress their food, whatever the hell that means. Of course, beer was no longer enough so a variety of wines and cocktails were added to the menu. All of which came with a lecture from the food cultist about the morality and science of their new thing.
My first reaction is “You invited these people?”
Then again, I suppose I myself could be considered a food oppressor, a decimator times ten: I fix enough to eat, and nothing is left — nothing but bits and pieces that would disappear into the dishwasher, had I a dishwasher.
There are two basic types of pathological foodies: men and women, as follows:
My read on this faux-allergy stuff is it is mostly women. The yogurt makers have figured out how to capitalize on their psycho-somatic stomach discomfort by claiming “probiotics” are the cure. Slap a new label on the old yogurt, double the price and you have a whole new revenue stream for the Acme Yogurt Company. I wish I had thought of it.
That said, men have their own food superstitions these days. I know guys who swallow dozens of supplements every day, believing they are the key to losing weight, staying young, getting a boner, living forever, etc. If the label says good things with words containing “-trophic” then they will shell out fifty bucks for a bottle. The more made up words the better. I read some of these bottles and start laughing as the neologisms are usually nonsense.
I operate on the notion that the death rate for this species is 100 percent, that it has been for some time, and if I have [name of food you can’t abide under any circumstances] once in a while, the odds won’t change one bit.