Thursday, April 12, 2007

¡ ya basta !

Warning: rant directly ahead.

So, I am aware of the bizarre health claims made on behalf of cruciferous vegetables, broccoli in particular. This doesn't mean I like to eat them. Sure, if I slather on enough ranch dressing, I can choke down a few - what's that vile word - florets of uncooked broccoli. With the cooked stuff, it's touch and go at best. If I remind myself that it could be worse (think brussels sprouts), I might just manage a mouthful or two, before cunningly hiding the rest under the mashed potatoes, or stuffing. But, let's be quite clear, where cruciferous vegetables are concerned, I have certain quite well-defined limits.

And - I can barely bring myself to type this word without throwing up in my mouth a little (borrowing a nauseating phrase to describe a nauseating concept, and an even more nauseating vegetable) - cauliflower simply goes beyond the pale. Surely one of nature's bastard spawn (of broccoli and what - tapioca, semolina, tadpole fetuses?), there is simply neither excuse nor justification for this malformed birth defect of a 'vegetable'.

As for the notion that one should somehow allow this vegetal ordure into the kitchen to be prepared for some unsuspecting victim to eat, only a deranged person could think that this is acceptable behavior. No matter how much mystery white sauce you slather on there.

So, señora Rosa, dueña de casa of my nightmares, what I want to know is - just what diabolical connection do you have to the demons of deprivation, to allow you to zero in so perfectly on the one item of "food" in this world which actually causes my gorge to rise. ¿Do you want me to vomit in your kitchen? Because, I swear to God, bruja - keep this up and next time I will.

But guess what, lady. ¿Do you know how many napkins it took for me to wrap the white-sauce covered cauliflower-offal so that I could dispose of in the garbage, where your demonic powers would not sniff it out? ¡Three! That's right, señora. Mark that down in your little notebook.

I'll be in my room, trying not to throw up in the wastebasket. Planning my escape.

Anyone out there who wants to mount a defence of cauliflower - don´t waste your time and effort. I will delete your post without compunction, you sick twisted prevert.

6 comments:

Bill Yard said...

You should try some brussels sprouts. I hear they're good for one's driving vision.

Speaking of food, can you get Spanish omelettes around there? If so, are they as good as the ones at IHOP? And what is IHOP in Spanish, anyway--HIPO or what not?

gaelstat said...

Bill:

I haven't seen an IHOP around here. But your instincts are correct - it would be called HIPO or HOPI or something along those lines. DNA becomes ADN, AIDS is SIDA, NATO is OTAN and so forth.

Further Spanish langage tidbit. Did you know that the only consonants that can appear doubled in español are those appearing in the name Caroline?

I strive to keep this blog both educational and interesting. I'm choosing to ignore Señor 0.92m's thinly-veiled advocacy of the brussels sprout, possibly the only vegetable equal to cauliflower in its potential to induce nausea.

David

Beth said...

But, but...(splutters incoherently, while waving various delicious cruciferous delicacies), oh fine. Get scurvy, or beri-beri, or whatever it was Mom said I'd get if I didn't eat my vegetables.

Here, have come cake.

OBC said...

I can tolerate raw cauliflower, with enough veggie dip on it to disguise the flavor. Cooked cauliflower is an abomination. Raw broccoli: One may as well go outside and graze on weeds. I used to dutifully eat cooked broccoli (with enough butter on it to counteract the bitter taste and clog a marathon runner's arteries), but I have finally admitted there is one thing on which I agree with George H. W. Bush: If I don't like it, I don't have to eat it.

gaelstat said...

dear Beth:

Thanks for the offer of cake, gratefully accepted. But surely you must understand that the phrase "delicious cruciferous delicacy" is, quite simply, a contradiction in terms.

Sometimes our parents lie to us, you know, for dark tormented reasons of their own.

amybuthod said...

Casa Internacional de Hotcakes

CIDH