As I lovingly prepared yet another delectable feast of a dinner for my cherished family, my hamburger browning solitude was interrupted by the endless barrage of badgering questions by our resident finicky eater 7 year old, Caterpillar. Meal time is a constant rehash of Caterpillar bugging me about what I'm cooking, and if it's any good, what's in it?, and will she like it? This from a girl who used to eat her own boogers. So, last night the ritual began anew.
Initially, it all started with the Manwich. We don't usually dine on such declasse greasy spoon fare, well at least not from a can because I have a really good Sloppy Joe recipe for the crockpot, but I digress. I made Manwich one night, and Caterpillar started in with her skeptical attitude about my cooking prowess. When she got to the, "What's it made out of?" question though, I simply turned to her and said, "Read the label, honey. It's MANwich, made from 100% real authentic man." Ha, I know my single sister-in-laws would argue that a REAL man is hard to find, let alone to come in a can. Caterpillar gagged and informed me that I was disgusting. Hey, 1 million plus cannibals can't all be wrong, can they? Well, this marked the start of a new family gross out tradition.
Yes, we've incorporated this line of thinking into many of our meals. Thursday evening, the Casa De Infidel special of the night featured hand stuffed manicotti with breadsticks and salad. Of course, it's de rigeur to torment Caterpillar now, so as I cooked I told her that we were going to feast on MANicotti, stuffed with bits and pieces of real man. Caterpillar replied to this news with her sullen voice, "Oh, man." My older daughter, Sunbum then asked me if that makes us like Nelly Furtado's song, "Man Eater." I told her that Nelly Furtado produces filthy whorish songs, and that for every time she listens to one of those Promiscuous Girl ditties , she has to take in six hours of Christian Rock to make penance for it. I'm taking a zero Nelly stance in this household. I then explained that we're more genteel like blue eyed soul singers, Hall And Oates version of, "Man Eater."
It breaks down like this. ZITI is a despised dish in this household because they pronounce it as ZITTY. Nobody wants to eat something with acne connotations to it. When I make my famous stew, I tell them that we're having Little Stew for dinner. We call it that ever since watching the Stuart Little movies. I inform them, "Yep, there's a Little morsel of Stew in every bite." I know it's spelled differently, but it still gives my little non-literate kids pause, and my older kids to question just how far meat from a mouse will go in feeding a family of 8. When we eat chicken fingers, my Papi takes his turn teasing our spawn with, "Oh, poor little chickens, walking around without their fingers because you horrible children chose to eat them." In the interest of maintaining a certain level of couth, I shall refrain from printing what he said about the "Chicken Balls" spotted on the steam table at our local Chinese Buffet.
I know that the feminists are pushing for equal rights in all respects, but I, for one, will rue the day that I see WOMANwich in a can, and a menu describing the delectable WOMANicotti dish. Already, we have to suffer through the consumption of ladyfingers, isn't that harsh enough?
14 comments:
Perhaps MYNwich or MYNicotti would appease the feminist equalitarian appetite.
Oliver loves to eat anything with crab meat because I tell him I made it with Mr Krabs (from Sponge Bob.) He is actually likely to eat any seafood because I tell him that the fish came from Bikini Bottom. In a way you would think this would make him not want to eat it, but he does.
Ooh, now you've got me worried. What do they really use to make Baby Ruths?
Ha, ha. I still can't eat Muscatel grapes because (aside from my aversion to tannins) my dad's friend told me when I was 8 that they're called Muscatel because they're fertilized with muskrat poop.
Is Catty sophisticated enough that if you told her that "x" dinner had chicken in it (if it were really tofu or something else that might be suspect) that she would figure out you were lying, or would she trust you (provided everyone else was in collusion with you)?
What I like about the picture is how high that Manwich is stacked, and not running over the sides--my sloppy joes are never that stiff.
Oh here she comes
Watch out boy she'll chew you up
Oh here she comes
She's a maneater...
When I come to Texas I was planning to visit you. But now I'm scared, I'm so so scared!.
Maneater, make you work hard
Make you spend hard
Make you want all,
of her love
She's a maneater...
And I think it should be Humanwich and Humanicotti, what's up with all this gender distinction stuff? Aren’t we all humans and equal?
For a long time Sloppy Joes were an utter mystery to me. I have never eaten one so it remains one of those untried american icons along with the Jeffersons and Gilligan's Island!
I am glad to see you put the man into manwich, as well as the fingers into chicken fingers.. Fish fingers are more problematic though - perhaps that is why they are called fish sticks in the US!
I wholeheartedly approve of your stance on Nelly Furtado.. is six hours enough???
RAJ- You sir are a uniter not a divider!
on the run- I wouldn't want to eat anything from a Bikini Bottom, least of all crabs! :) When my Monkey was little we went to a seafood buffet and she refused to eat, so Papi propped up a boiled crawfish onto her plate and told her that her little friend "Sebastian" was watching her every move, and that she better eat. Please don't call CPS on us.
Julie-That won you the coveted and rare Infidel LOL! I'm going to double check the ingredients on my Little Debbie snack cakes, that's for sure!
anne- You have more refined tastes than I, for I do not knoweth what a muscatel is. I'm all about artificially grape flavored and colored though.
elizabeth- I know, right! That picture defies all truth in adverising laws. Personally, I think it's a stunt double Sloppy Joe.
NCS- You comin to Texas? Well, YEEEEE HAAAAWWW! I'll take you to do the boot scootin boogie and to the best place in all of Texas....Pancho's Mexican Buffet! If your nice, I'll even splurge and buy you the layered Jell-o parfait treat in the collectible Pancho's glass all done in Mexico's flag colors. Super classy and super delicious. Doesn't that sound super?
jams- Not to be dirty, but fish sticks? Ewwwwww! Yes, six hours penance for every Nelly song is enough but it has to be a medley of "Jesus Freak" song mixes only. In actuality, my kids love that song, and I think that I have heard at least 4 versions of it. I'm campaigning the American Tourism Board right now to include sloppy joes as one the great American hallmarks that people should come here to try. We're taking greasy culinary delights to a global audience!
I told Gabe, our oldest (12 going on 50), he was bought on sale in the diaper aisle at HEB in the clearance section, just to boost his self-esteem.
See, kids these days have a lot more options for playing the parental blame game. Back in the day we had the big three: S.C., E.B. and T.F. Now they have SpongeBob characters, Disney characters, Nelly Furtado deprivation... I tell you these kids just don't realize how lucky they are.
And I'd *love* to see a transcript of a CPS interview on accusations of Intimidation By Sebastian Surrogate. Maybe yuo could write a post about such an encounter, even a fictional one.
Remind me to bring some Chianti. And some fafa beans. Yum!
We always joke when sears or penney's or whatever big store has their huge 'Baby Sale'!!!!!!! 6 fingered babies as low as $89.99!! Mismatched eyes are 75% off!! No money down with approved credit!!!
I have a house of picky eaters myself. In fact, just tonight, I bribed boy #2 with a pan of brownies if he would eat Tomato Soup for dinner. He said that it tasted like the juice that comes with Spaghetti O's. I thought that was a fair comparison. Well, he did it, so there were brownies for everyone!
Good for you and your stance on Nelly. I liked her before When she was like a bird. Now she is like a skank.
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