HUMOR

Food — and Other Stuff — I Can’t Stomach

At least my list won’t piss off Padma Lakshmi

Columnist Gene Weingarten might have two Pulitzer Prizes for feature writing under his belt, but he demonstrated last week that the emperor has no clothes.

The D.C. scribe wrote a column in a national rag (OK, The Washington Post), which disparaged nine types of food/seasonings/condiments and one collective group of regional cuisines. He constructed his piece — intended to tickle the reader’s funny bone — with what I would call the journalistic sensitivity of ramming a fish bone right down his readers’ throats.

In other words, his words weren’t worth the newsprint it would have required to wrap a purchase at Seattle’s Pike Place Fish Market.

Weingarten’s attempt at humor really stunk up the place. And then he had to apologize, not ever a good look.

Word to the writing-wise: Do not pen any piece that slams a national cuisine, especially if that mode of cooking is not a one-size-fits-all deal, but rather involves devotees of 31 separate regional ways of negotiating the construction of a delicious meal.

If he’d done his homework, Mr. Weingarten would have discovered India does not even have a national cuisine, and saying so — and then showing one’s ignorance in an attempted critique of such cooking — will get you scorched on social media. You also might find yourself having to print a mega-apology, because Padma Lakshmi is some kinda pissed.

Oh, and the national pub for which this well-known, so-called humor columnist toils had to print a correction, too. Even I knew that the fare whipped up in flats all over this South Asian republic is not totally based on the concept of curry.

Top Chef host Lakshmi, in fact, called columnist Weingarten’s attempt at food humor “lazy, racist and unfunny”.

Far be it from moi to school Mr. Weingarten in the humor arts, but he should stick to what he knows, which obviously doesn’t include Indian food.

PS, Mr. W.: Old Bay is a seasoning that one cooks with, not a food. Balsamic Vinegar is a condiment. And anchovies — those tiny, salty, delicious little fish? Well, I’m surprised Gene-O didn’t get a more vocal outpouring of angst from the vast Italian community around the world. Spaghetti Puttanesca, anyone?

And yes, I myself adore an occasional anchovy and mushroom pizza. Or anchovy and jalapeños, if I wish to keep any of the fam away from my leftovers.

Face it: Writing about something with which one is unfamiliar will just get you skewered on Twitter.

And then some.

I’d also like to point out that it’s almost impossibly impossible to get through the WaPo’s freakin’ paywall to read Mr. W.’s loathsome diatribe from last week. But here’s a brilliant hack: If the scribe in question posts his work on Twitter, you more often-than-not will be able to read his screed. And if you scroll down, you’ll be able to see a week’s worth of carping about food and Weingarten’s ignorance thereof. For free. You’re welcome.

In his defense, Mr. W. wasn’t entirely wrong to apply the amusing premise of criticizing abysmal cuisine. He was just a little too much of a glutton for punishment in his approach.

Which is why I’m taking this opportunity to cross the thin line between love and hate and list The Top 10 Foods I Find, Well, Icky. Here you go:

• Lima beans — They taste like dirt. And are they named after Lima, Peru or Lima, Ohio? I don’t really care, because I don’t really care for them. Do you?
• Strawberry ice cream — While I will more than tolerate an occasional taste of the beautiful red fruit — especially if dipped in chocolate — I’ve never been a fan of any food that chemically mimics that sweet-from-nature essence. Synthetic strawberries? In ice cream, no less? Just plain ish.
• White bread, unless toasted — Bland, boring — just like the people who adhere to the same appellation. Now, if you were going to bake some fresh bread, that would be a different story. But leave the Wonder Bread to the ignorant swine among us. You know, those who think ivermectin will cure the Covid Blues.
• Brussels sprouts — Everyone I’m related to loves this veggie. And the bulbous green nuggets make everyone I’m related to fart. Endlessly. End of discussion. And BS — apt initials, yes? — sorta smell like those gastrointestinal emissions before even being consumed.
• Strawberry shortcake — I buried this a little farther down on the list because I didn’t want my sister-in-law to see it. I know I said I liked strawberries — if they’re real. But if you mush them up with an over-abundance of sugar, then spread them on sweet biscuits/shortbread and douse them with whipped cream? Too much of a treacly taste sensation, even for a sweetie like me.
• Stroganoff — One of my SIL’s eponymous Midwestern dishes. Smells like burned sour cream and tastes like sour pig slop. Shhhhhhhhh…please don’t tell her. I’ll eat what I’m served. Mama didn’t raise no fool.
• Fried eggs — I can’t be in the same room where these items are being cooked or consumed. I think it goes back to my childhood. Daddy ate eggs every morning, and as a child I just couldn’t stomach his dietary choices. I’m a Cheerios girl, I guess.
• Split pea soup — What the heck is a split pea, anyway? Sorry to those of you who adore this winter staple, but I can’t get past the color or the consistency. And please don’t make me elaborate.
• Herring — I’m not sure I’ve ever really tasted herring, but I liken it to a Norwegian fish dish my mother-in-law and her sisters prepared at Christmas. Moker’s Uncle used to say of the traditional Lutefisk, which is actually salted cod, I think: “Even shit tastes good if you put enough butter on it”.
• Chicken breasts — Too dry. Face it, I’m a dark meat person. Never been a boobs gal, either.

There you have it. One way to disrespect what’s for dinner — or any other meal, including dessert — without slamming an entire sub-continent.

Yeah, I’m sorry in advance to any Midwesterners, Scandinavian-American in-laws or well-known writers who may have been offended by this analysis, but I’m confident they can take it. And I’m sure Gene Weingarten has bigger fish to fry. His next humor column is scheduled for this Sunday. Unless he skips a week, which he very well could. Padma Lakshmi’s wrath knows no bounds. And we’re still digesting last week’s effort.