Hi all.
I have been working on a proper new blog post, one full of tales of adventures and glamorous photographs and anecdotes about the cat. However, this compelled me to write.
If you're too lazy/uninterested/technologically outdated to click on the link, it's a blog post from the food/cooking/designer-kitchen blog The Kitchn, talking about how difficult it is to eat a salad.
Really. This is apparently a problem?
I will be honest: I have been eating salads like mad lately. They are quite tasty, and they are especially tastier if you add kale to them (I would suggest Red Russian kale, as it is my favorite of kales, and also because it's a lighter version than your standard curly kales). I have eaten salads, of one variety or another, for several years now; I have never found the practice all that complicated. Hell, even if I had just discovered the concept of salads, I think I could handle it. Apparently, this makes me some sort of wizard, as, at least at the time of this posting, the Kitchn's article has 26 comments from people who are also unable to comprehend how to eat food.
To be fair, the post does specify that the issue is eating salad gracefully. Perhaps I am just uncouth, but unless you are rooting around in your salad bowl like some sort of artiodactyl or snorting up the leaves in lieu of chewing them, you're probably going to be OK.
Of course, because this blog is written entirely by women, with an audience overwhelmingly comprised of women, there isn't any chance that the choice of the word gracefully has any deeper meaning, right? It wouldn't suggest that, at least in public (especially in public), we who are in possession of ladyparts (at least when said ladyparts attach to a ladybody that is well-to-do, or at least not poor) should always maintain an aura of respectability that is almost entirely predicated on our ability to be dainty?
Because no one wants to be seen as unladylike; why, it's only a slight jump from using your fork to scoop up lettuces to ending up a slovenly guttersnipe in some sort of Dickensian workhouse, drinking gin and swearing and yelling at soot-covered urchins.
If you'll excuse me, imma go eat some salad as messily as possible. Now, where's my trough?
I have been working on a proper new blog post, one full of tales of adventures and glamorous photographs and anecdotes about the cat. However, this compelled me to write.
If you're too lazy/uninterested/technologically outdated to click on the link, it's a blog post from the food/cooking/designer-kitchen blog The Kitchn, talking about how difficult it is to eat a salad.
Really. This is apparently a problem?
I will be honest: I have been eating salads like mad lately. They are quite tasty, and they are especially tastier if you add kale to them (I would suggest Red Russian kale, as it is my favorite of kales, and also because it's a lighter version than your standard curly kales). I have eaten salads, of one variety or another, for several years now; I have never found the practice all that complicated. Hell, even if I had just discovered the concept of salads, I think I could handle it. Apparently, this makes me some sort of wizard, as, at least at the time of this posting, the Kitchn's article has 26 comments from people who are also unable to comprehend how to eat food.
To be fair, the post does specify that the issue is eating salad gracefully. Perhaps I am just uncouth, but unless you are rooting around in your salad bowl like some sort of artiodactyl or snorting up the leaves in lieu of chewing them, you're probably going to be OK.
Of course, because this blog is written entirely by women, with an audience overwhelmingly comprised of women, there isn't any chance that the choice of the word gracefully has any deeper meaning, right? It wouldn't suggest that, at least in public (especially in public), we who are in possession of ladyparts (at least when said ladyparts attach to a ladybody that is well-to-do, or at least not poor) should always maintain an aura of respectability that is almost entirely predicated on our ability to be dainty?
Because no one wants to be seen as unladylike; why, it's only a slight jump from using your fork to scoop up lettuces to ending up a slovenly guttersnipe in some sort of Dickensian workhouse, drinking gin and swearing and yelling at soot-covered urchins.
If you'll excuse me, imma go eat some salad as messily as possible. Now, where's my trough?
