Tag Archives: Food

A Tribute to Mayo

Every time I see a bottle of mayo, it makes me smile.

And, not just any mayo: the Best Foods mayo. It is truly the best.

I blame my infatuation with mayo on my Hawaii upbringing. The Hawaii locals love their mayo, and they can put it on just about anything. I think that I disgust most people (who aren’t from Hawaii, of course) with the amount of things on which I am capable of putting mayo. For instance, I can make a salad dressing out of it as a vegetable dip. I also enjoy mixing it with mustard or ketchup to go with french fries. And, when I put it on a sandwich, I really lay it on thick.

There are times at the dining room table when I am eating something with mayo on it, and the hubby just stares at me with one of the following facial expressions:

MikesFaces

It is usually accompanied by a sigh.

I assume that he is having one or more of the following thoughts:

  1. She is going to die of a heart attack before the age of 40.
  2. She is going to turn into a big fatty who will stay home all day and soak herself in a tub full of mayo.
  3. I can barely stomach my own meal while watching her slather her food with mayo like that.
  4. That mayo cost me six bucks a bottle, and she just ate two bucks.

In the past, the hubby has tried to sneakily swap out my regular mayo for light or generic mayo for my sandwiches, but he is always unsuccessful. I have spydee sense and superpowers when it comes to mayo. I can spot a fake mayo a mile away, and I am merciless if a bottle of fake mayo ends up in my house. In that respect, you can just call me “The Mayonator.” I will rip apart a fake mayo bottle with ease, destroying its contents immediately, like The Incredible Hulk tearing off a t-shirt.

Sometimes people (like my hubby) just have to learn to let go, and stop trying to force logic on an illogical world. Some things are totally unexplainable. For instance:

  1. My intense love for mayo.
  2. Why The Incredible Hulk always busted out of his t-shirt, but never his pants.
  3. Why Donald Trump thinks his fake hair looks fine, and Dolly Parton, Donatella Versace, and Kenny Loggins all think their plastic surgeries look normal.

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Filed under Stories from the Stomach

Camping Is… for Other People

One of my most memorable camping experiences occurred about 10 years ago at a popular campground in Northern California. I recall that after my friends and I drove around for miles through a remote redwood forest, we finally found the perfect spot. We parked the car at the campsite and proceeded to unload all of our gear and food.

After a few trips to the car to unload our supplies, I noticed a seatbelt twitching back and forth in the car. When I got closer, I realized that there was a raccoon sitting in the driver’s seat. Luckily, his legs were too short to reach the gas pedal; otherwise, that could have made for quite an interesting 911 call…

Frantic Caller (Me): “Oh my God, our car was just stolen!”

911 Dispatch: “Ma’am, please calm down. Did you get a look at the person who stole it?”

Me: “Yes, but it wasn’t so much a person per se. The culprit was really fluffy and stood about a foot tall. I know this sounds crazy, but it was actually a raccoon.”

911 Dispatch: “Ma’am, let me get this straight: you’re calling to report that a raccoon stole your vehicle?”

Me: “Yes, that’s correct sir. A raccoon just sped out of here with our car and our camping supplies!”

911 Dispatch: “Ma’am, have you been drinking?”

Anyway, so there sat a raccoon in the driver’s seat of our car. My friend rushed over to the car, swung the door open, and out jumped this raccoon, running like a raccoon out of hell into the forest with half a loaf of our bread. The most mind-blowing part was that the raccoon (we’ll call him Mr. Belvedere) seemed to be civilized and have manners. Mr. Belvedere hadn’t just ripped open the bag of bread as I envisioned a savage, rabies-ridden vermin would: he actually took the time to take the twisty tie off the bag and take out individual slices of bread one by one while killing time in the car.

Later that evening, as I struggled through one of the most uncomfortable nights of sleep imaginable amongst rocks, pinecones, and creatures of the dark, I heard a rustling noise outside my tent. Heart racing, I pointed my flashlight in the direction of the noise and laid eyes on what appeared to be rascally little Mr. Belvedere. Only this time, he was sitting on top of my cooler, meticulously unwrapping slices of Kraft singles with his tiny, oddly human-like hands and fingers.

Well, at least he didn’t get the Cracker Jack’s! Um… hey, wait a minute… where are the Cracker Jack’s?! He’s lucky he’s cute, or there’d be hell to pay!

My friend tried to make the best of the situation and get me re-energized about camping, so he started telling me things like:

“You don’t see that in the city.”

“That raccoon was awesome.”

“There’s some amazing wildlife out here.”

“I like how it’s so rustic.”

Riiight. Rustic. A fancy way of saying that we voluntarily gave up wonderful modern conveniences like electricity, hot water, and toilets in order to suffocate each other with our own smells in a tiny microcosm of re-circulated air (commonly referred to as a “tent”). Also a fancy way of saying that if we didn’t slather ourselves in toxic insect repellant and lock up all our food, we would be violated and pillaged in the night by mosquitoes and the aforementioned “amazing wildlife.”

A couple years later, I must have suffered some type of brain injury, because I actually agreed to go camping again. This time, we ended up near a scenic lake infested with mosquitoes. It was so horrible, I couldn’t even pull my pants down to go to the bathroom in peace. As soon as I did, hoards of mosquitoes swarmed my butt cheeks, covering them like sprinkles on a donut. This forced me to have to multi-task (and by “multi-task,” I mean that I had to go to the bathroom and swat mosquitoes on my rear end simultaneously while trying not to pee in my shoe). It was awesome.

How nice. But, I don’t miss YOU.

If you haven’t already, y’all should try camping sometime. If you are fond of the idea of being homeless and out of your element, it’s definitely a fun way to spend a weekend… for those of you who are clearly insane.

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Filed under Silva Nuggets (Random)

Fortune Cookie Fridays: Part 1

Our first official “Fortune Cookie Fridays” post (because Fridays are even better when fortune cookies are involved). Enjoy!

If you have any ideas for “Fortune Cookie Fridays,” please let us know! We might feature you and your blog in our future posts! Have a wonderful Friday and weekend everyone!

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Filed under Best Things We Learned, We Learned from...

A Girl Wants What a Girl Wants

If you don’t believe me, you should meet our dog Bella. At our house, we have about a dozen containers filled with different treats in the “dog closet.” Everyday, when the dogs go potty, they get a treat as a reward from that closet. Trust me, it’s a tough job to let them out of the house, and get them to stay focused on the goal of relieving themselves. Sometimes they see a stray dog, some cat poop, a shiny object, or something else that distracts them from the task at hand. When they go out and do what they’re supposed to do and come right back, I consider that an accomplishment.

Over the years, I’ve given the dogs little strips of jerky or mini biscuits as a reward for going to the bathroom. After so many times of doing this, I realized that Bella would stare at me with this look. It was the kind of look that seemed to say “What? That’s it?”

One day, she gave me her usual look, and I exclaimed “Fine! Go pick something else then!”

To my surprise, she walked over to the dog closet and actually pointed to the container she wanted: the one with the jumbo chew treats. Okay, don’t get too excited. She didn’t point to the container with her finger… or toe… or whatever that furry nub is. She isn’t that talented. She pointed with her nose. Although, I guess if the guy on the GEICO commercial can train guinea pigs how to row a boat, anything is possible.

At first, I thought it was just a fluke, so I told Bella to pick again. All that proved was that she was smarter than I expected. She went right back and pointed to the same container with her nose.

And, what’s the moral of this story, other than the fact that we have a four-legged, canine prodigy running around the house?

A girl wants what a girl wants. There’s no discouraging a girl on a mission.

 

Have you ever been so focused on a goal that nothing could stop you?

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Filed under Furry Tales

Your Cheese Is Sweating

My town has one of the most interesting sandwich shops in existence. If there were logical rules by which sandwich shops should abide, it would defy most of them.

The first time I went there, the owners were advertising a special sandwich on a huge poster on the front door. When I asked for the special sandwich, they said that it wasn’t available. I asked them why they were advertising a sandwich that they didn’t have, and they stared at me blankly.

I figured I would just order something else. I saw a hot breakfast sandwich on the menu that looked good, so I ordered that instead. They told me it was no longer offered, and they had inadvertently left it on the menu.

The second time I went to the sandwich shop, I was really craving a toasted panini. They explained to me that they had no working toaster oven, and they were out of ciabatta bread.

The third time I went in there (I can’t believe I’m actually admitting that I went back a third time), I immediately got blasted by hot air, after pushing open the front door. Apparently they fixed the toaster oven. What they didn’t fix was the thermostat and the central air. On a warm day, the temperature inside the sandwich shop was significantly higher than the temperature outside.

I went up to the counter and saw what appeared to be a bunch of ailing condiments, waiting for death. I couldn’t help myself from making a comment to the owner standing there. I said “I’m sorry, but it’s like a thousand degrees in here, and your mayo looks sick.” He responded “It’s fine. We keep it cooler behind the counter.” I leaned over the counter, pointed at the slices of cheddar, and replied “Really? Then why is your cheese sweating?”

Another patron in line behind me broke out in laughter. The owner seemed uneasy. I cheerfully remarked “Thanks, but I don’t want any sweaty cheese.”

I haven’t gone back since. I swear.

 

Have you had any interesting food experiences?

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Filed under Stories from the Stomach