** On this Memorial Day please enjoy a guest post from my Father-in-law, a U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Vietnam combat veteran and “normal food” connoisseur. Please note in this picture there are not only two generations of hungry Midwesterners, but two generations of Hondas as well. (Honda – if you’d like to send a free motorcycle for us to review on the blog, please contact me.) Most of the following pics are from a father/son motorcycle trip the boys took to West Virginia. **
Don’t hold this blog against Joanna, dear readers. Someone obviously dared her to invite her father-in-law to pinch hit today’s column. So this will be more of a bunt while you’re used to her swinging for the fences.
While I consider myself a “foodie”, I’ll have to admit my tastes go more toward food I can pronounce (and also spell). Also, it helps if my food can be handed to me through a window or delivered to me in flat boxes.
Now I’ve eaten my share of exotic foods. As a draftee in Uncle Sam’s Army during that Vietnam thing a few decades ago, I was reduced to eating monkey and fresh fish “caught” from rivers with hand grenades and drinking water by slicing into sections of green bamboo.
Those experiences, as well as others, gave me the world view that “normal” food was good – and have made me what I am today – a dyslexic anorexic.
I’ve recently retired as an emeritus professor after teaching for thirty-five years at Ohio’s second largest university. That means it wasn’t Ohio State; you’ll have to Google it (WE’RE NUMBER TWO – WE’RE NUMBER TWO!) This means that the Mother-in-law and I have had a chance to travel and sample a lot of regional delicacies. I can now say that I’ve had meatloaf and mashed potatoes in many, many states.
I don’t like food of unusual colors, food with eyes that look at me (unless it’s potato eyes), oh – and things that shouldn’t touch each other on my plate must maintain a respectable distance apart. I can recall with horror each time my favorite breakfast of eggs over easy and pancakes were smilingly placed in front of me WITH MY EGGS ATOP MY PANCAKES! QUICK, A SCALPEL PLEASE. After some delicate surgery I regained some normalcy to my meal.
All fish are safe from us while we’re in New England. “Crawlfish” can still crawl around while we’re in New Orleans, and crabs – well they can go on being crabby when we’re in Maryland. But if you moo, cluck or oink – watch your back.
I’ll wind this blog down with an apology to daughter-in-law for inheriting a husband who knew a good Twinkie when he saw one. Who understood the religious experience of a foot-long coney with everything, at midnight, when served over the greasy counter of a drive-in movie concession.
And was on a first name basis with most fair and festival vendors.
While this may sound a little unhealthy to all of you, readers, I’ll go on record right here that I never allowed my son’s donuts to ever come into contact with his pepperoni pizza. Honest!
Question of the Day: Well . . . how’d I do?