There are approximately 1,278 signs I am not a foodie. But since it’s Friday and y’all have to get to your lake houses and your bucolic beach retreats while I sit right here like every other damn day, I will just give you the top 5 signs.
1. I just don’t “get” heirloom tomatoes. They are shaped weird, their coloring is bizarre, they cost $37.00 each, and I can’t taste the difference.
2. Turn your foodie nose up all you want, but there’s nothing that Jose Andres (that Spanish chef who freeze dries bits of deer dung to make it taste like raspberry gelato) can make that tastes better than Velveeta melted in a crock pot with a can of Rotel tomatoes. Period. End of debate.
3. Farmers’ markets– More like “where the hell did my money go?” How come I always leave a farmers’ market $50.00 poorer but all I have to show for it are some tomatoes I can’t begin to understand or appreciate? I also don’t know what kohlrabi is, and I have no idea what to do with all that kale. Farmers markets make me nervous and hungry for Velveeta.
4. My favorite dessert in the whole wide world — and I’ve been to Cleveland and Cabo– is not creme brûlée from Paris or parsnip carpaccio with carmelized sweet breads from Sicily. Nope. It’s the soft-serve frozen yogurt from Costco. Chocolate-vanilla swirl. $1.53. If I end up in a situation where I have to choose my last meal, I hope I am close to a Costco because it melts fast and I hate to miss a single drop.
5. Beverage of choice: Slurpee. Yesterday I had 45 minutes of babysitter time left on the clock and a full tank of gas. I could have gone anywhere and done anything. I brushed my hair, dug some lip gloss out from the bottom of my purse and went straight to 7-11 for a delicious, fruity Slurpee. Best $2.15 I ever spent.
So drive safely on your way to the cottage. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.
NOTE: The makers of the fine American treats featured in this post did not pay me a red cent to mention their goods. Even if they offered, I would not accept a dime. My love cannot be bought.