Can’t Have It? Then I Want It!

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This whole thing about Twinkie’s20121117-065615.jpg

has gotten me thinking…

The mind games we play with ourselves about food is absolutely crazy. And, to tell the truth, is likely one of the main reasons why it’s an obsession for so many.

We have given an inanimate object a great deal of power.

Take the Twinkie. Hostess has caused quite a stir, announcing they are closing their plants and no longer producing the iconic Twinkie along with other products like orange cupcakes

20121117-083036.jpg or Wonder Bread


My sister’s favorite was the Ho Ho.

20121117-083653.jpgI liked it but always deconstructed it as I ate it…first nibbling off the chocolate coating (chocolate so waxy that it built up on your teeth), then unrolling it and licking off the cream filling (so sweet it sometimes made me shiver) and finally eating the chocolate cake. That was a lot of work for a thin slice of cake!

But, I digress. My Twit Feed and Facebook wall is filled with Lamentations about the closing of Hostess. Boomers like me are all going down their own culinary memory lane. With Thanksgiving looming we are all talking about food memories (or maybe it’s just that I have foodie friends…birds of a feather…) and over and over I hear about how bad Twinkies are.

You would think Twinkies shoved themselves into people’s mouths!

We give food power.

News flash: it has none. No food is completely good and no food is completely bad. As soon as I made up my mind that I could eat anything I wanted I took the power back.

If I want a Twinkie I would eat one. Bad example…I would never actually crave one but you know what I mean.

Reframe. Food has no voice…we are ventriloquists. If the food speaks it is really our words.

Just change your mind.

RIP Twinkies.

Have a yummy day!



My Dad: The “I’ll Have an Egg” Generation

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Senior Prom 1976!

Here is how it would go:

Sometime in the 1960’s…

Dad: I think I’ll have an egg.

Mom: Okay, how would you like it?

Dad: Fried, over easy…no, soft boil it with toast. Do we have Italian bread?

Mom: No, only whole wheat and Wonder Bread for the kids sandwiches for lunch.


Dad: Okay, forget the soft boiled. How about scrambled?

Mom: Sure, do you want some bacon? I could make you bacon.

Dad: No, do you have any Italian sausage?

Mom: I do, in the freezer. I could defrost it.

Dad: That would take forever. Do you have any peppers?

Mom: I do. I could cook them up with some potatoes. I’ll scramble the eggs in that. How does that sound?

Dad: That sounds great.

45 minutes later, frying pans, mixing bowls in the sink and a satiated husband, my mother took care of my father because he wanted an egg.

Out of context, this conversation sounds archaic, with my oppressed mother serving her overbearing husband.

It is anything but that. It is the way they were. The roles were clearly defined. My mother cooked the meals for our family. My father had no clue in the kitchen.

He did, however, know his way around the grill. For all of the years I saw my mother cook and bake I never saw her cooking on the grill. Never.

My dad would cook a steak just like they did at John’s Flaming Hearth.
He actually went into the kitchen and asked. I believe it was Lowrey’s Seasoned Salt and onion powder on one side and garlic powder and pepper on the other.

I used to love to go outside and watch him grill and ask him things. Important things like “why do cars come in fancy named colors when it’s really just blue?” or “how can you tell when a dealer has a good hand in blackjack?”

I was telling my friend Joanne about my blog today and she told me a story that mirrors my own:

She and her mom were in a very serious automobile accident almost 30 years ago. Joanne was released from the hospital before her mother who had many surgeries and other complications. About a week before she was potentially going to be released she was in her bed in a coma-like state.

When her father heard she may be released from the hospital by the weekend he said “when she gets home, do you think she’ll make me a pot of sauce?”

In a miracle like curing of the sick, her mom opened her eyes and said “Go to hell!”

Her father’s reply: okay, I guess I’ll just have to go to the Como!

These guys came from a different time.

My father was my illusive hero. He worked tons of hours and fit way more fun into his schedule than my husband can. In dad’s time fathers were not in the delivery room nor expected to call a babysitter when an evening out as a couple occurred.

Dad has been gone for almost 20 years. I sometimes cannot believe it because I can still hear his voice. He was my cheerleader and chief dreamer of dreams. My dad was HUGE long before that guy on TV. He left an enormous footprint.

Happy Father’s Day to all fathers out there.

Blessings also to my husband who gets to celebrate his birthday and Father’s Day the same day!

Have a yummy day!

Twitter: @JudeTheFoodie
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