Boomer Twilight

Mostly Humorous Observations of Most Anything, with a Boomer Slant

Posts Tagged ‘Food

Soy To The World

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I have really been enjoying soy products lately. Tonight my dinner was Peanut Noodles made with soy pasta. Add a little spinach and/or bok choy to the recipe, and you have a home run. Mmmm. You might be turning your nose up at the thought, but it was really good. Tasty.

I’m by no means a Vegan. Meat is a part of virtually all my meals. The occasional nibble of a hunk of jerky is within the realm of my dietary kingdom. I haven’t chomped on the side of a buffalo lately, but I do eat meat. My joy for soy is not because there is any particular concern over chewing on carcass. It’s just that soy products are so healthy and are now more like familiar food. And honestly, they please the Buds of Taste (sounds like a movie).

When I was a kid, one of my favorite journeys was to the Chinese restaurant with my sister and parents. We always got a kick out of my father eating the hot mustard and pretending the beads of sweat were not rolling off his brow. “Naaa, it’s not hot. It tastes good,” so he said. We knew better. His red face and fire-eyes were a dead giveaway. Dad was cool.

When the food came, the first thing I reached for was the soy sauce (bet you do, too). If I had known then my sauce would turn into Peanut Noodles as an adult, I would have prepared myself for the evolution.

Soy crisps make a great substitute for potato chips. A dripping, sloppy cheeseburger; with a side of Roasted Garlic Soy Crisps, is more healthy than a dripping, sloppy cheeseburger; with a side of dark russet oil chips; probably about 70 calories.

It seems with all the diets there is an emphasis on high protein. Soy contains hearty amounts. The standard grocery chains are carrying more and more diverse soy products. You don’t necessarily have to go to the natural food markets and pay an exorbitant price for healthy food. It has always bothered me that to eat healthy, you have to pay way too much. It’s as though you need to take out a loan to live. Why is that? I know supply and demand economics is at work here, but is it really fair?

When I saw soy noodles on the shelf it was exciting. I love pasta, and this gives me a chance to eat it and get the near equivalent of the protein contained in meat. Another really good dish, Spaghetti Aglio e Olio, is great using soy pasta. The recipe calls for minced garlic, but if you slice it real thin and brown it in olive oil, it’s better. Maybe use a little more because the chunks will be bigger than minced garlic, which emits more flavor than sliced.

As a society we have grown bigger and broader. The clothing industry and models of the clothes seem to be telling us we shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. Yet, we continue to expand. Obesity is a major concern, and our health is challenged by our abnormal growth. “Fat is not where it’s at.” We do little to counter the expansion of our torsos. Food made with soy will help. And for the tree hugging, animal saving public, it can be the answer.

Soy ice cream is terrific. We can feed our fat fetish, while saving our hearts. It seems to me that is a good way to go.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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Written by Bake My Fish

March 7, 2008 at 8:47 pm

Rome Wasn’t Filth in the Day

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Our bathroom habits are routine. We have privacy whenever and wherever we want. There is never a necessity, other than a serious emergency, for us to use an outside facility. During the realm of the Roman Empire your routine would have been challenged. Sitting on the bowl in the wide open, waving at Julius Caesar (he made such a great salad) during a Triumph through The Aventine, would be a stunning scene in today’s world. Considering the Roman diet was decidedly higher in grains and fiber than ours, these holes would have been put to good use.

I can’t imagine sitting on a pot with the person next to me, scrunch-faced and chatting as if we’re waiting for a bus. No walls, no barrier, just our bloomers around our ankles, shooting the breeze. It’s tough enough remaining quiet when there are stalls. In the open, you can’t be mum. The guy sitting on the adjacent hole may want to talk. You can’t be rude and avoid the conversation. Otherwise you will be considered a jerk. I suppose it was fairly awkward reading slate tablets, rather than the newspaper or a magazine, but without the solitude, you had to lay down the newsoid and listen.

I’ve written about the over and under TP roll. Sitting in the open during number two, beats any lack of proper materials or the direction of the pull. Are the mores of today any better for us than during the days of open potties? We think it’s nasty, but for the Romans it was the norm. Louise Pasteur wasn’t around, so they didn’t really know about bacteria and stuff. Our exposed genitalia wasn’t considered as naughty and disgusting as now. We were humans, with normal needs. Society didn’t really care that we emitted waste.

Fortunately the lack of stalls eliminated most of the bathroom graffiti. It is important to note; however, that the series of privy poems about The Young Man From Nantucket or Azores, originated during the reign of Caligula. The felt-tipped pen wasn’t invented before this period. Potty Laureates had to be creative.

A friend came into my office the other day to discuss “Urinal Protocol.” I do agree with him that indeed we have developed habits. If a man walks into an empty bathroom, which receptacle does he use? If there is more than one user, with more than one trap, where do you line up? In Ancient Rome it was no problem. For us it is perplexing.

Imagine a day at the Coliseum during a Gladiator/Wild Beast massacre with 50,000 spectators drinking wine, eating whole grain bread smothered in Garum, a hunk of cheese, and some kind of carcass from the stadium vendors; all of which were very likely bacterial-infested. I would guess they might want to visit the facilities on occasion. Now, I could probably live with the idea of sharing a booth with another person, given the culture of the time. But, 50,000? I’m glad to have been born a Boomer.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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Written by Bake My Fish

January 30, 2008 at 10:58 pm

Caffeinated Nation – Pick Your Buzz

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Mmmmm. Coffee. Love it. Can’t get enough. I take a thermos to work; about five cups of my favorite dark roast. If I have any left over (it’s good for 24 hours), I take it home and make iced coffee.

A few years ago coffee was considered evil. Caffeine killed. That’s what all the research said. Now we crawl on our knees for the next jolt. Bzzzz. Zzzzttt.

Coffee is the liquid fuel I prefer. My favorite blend is Espresso with French Roast (kind of the same thing). Then there is this Italian Roast branded by the local grocery store, but I think it’s the same as Espresso. The strength bar at the self-help coffee station grades it to the far right, for “most intense.” Dark stuff. Kill me with flavor. I’ll live with the indigestion. The buzz is the thing. Give me the coffee zing.

Can you sling a cat through the air and not hit a coffee shop or stand? They’re everywhere. Name a mall or shopping center, and if someone asks, “Is there a coffee shop?” you can say, “Hell yeah, there are three.” Forget about the muffins and scones, because within pastries lies evil. Guzzle the coffee. Live on the upswing. Caffeine is your friend.

In 1988, we visited Seattle for my daughter’s High School graduation. At that time, they had push carts on nearly every street corner selling coffee. Every morning I walked across the street from our hotel to get coffee for the morning wake up. There were shops, paying hard rent, around every corner, too. This visit was our discovery of Starbucks. The first Starbucks was opened in 1971 across from Pike Place Market; probably the coolest market in the country (I sat in the stool at the Athenian Inn used by Tom Hanks during the filming of Sleepless in Seattle). Starbucks had recently announced a plan to expand, and did they ever? Their 2006 revenue was $7,786,000,000. You read that right. 7.786 billion. Selling coffee. Juan Valdez is rolling in his grave.

A few years ago I was having coffee with a friend of mine. He drinks his black, and I add dairy and sweetener. In this kind of sinister, yet comical way, he said, “I drink coffee. You drink a coffee beverage.” I laughed, but he made a good point. It seems most people like their coffee blended with something sweet and creamy. Frappuccino, Cappuccino, Crapuccino. Name it. Someone likes it.

Since coffee has now been embraced as a good thing, we have the invasion of energy drinks. Love them, too. I know . . . Mountain Dew (diet) and all the other buzz-worthy drinks are considered a young indulgence, but I can’t help myself. My favorite drink is my favorite for three reasons: I get a lot for the same price as smaller versions, it’s sugar free, and low in sodium. OK, analyze that. I’m worried about the sodium because of blood pressure, but the purpose of energy drinks is to increase blood pressure. If you see me out and about and you know CPR, please stand near. I’ll gargle just in case.

A person can spend hours wading through the choice of energy drinks available at any given store. Many of them come in a sugar-free diet variety. Your brain can explode from the intensity of the drink, but you will be thin in the Emergency Room. At least you’ll look good. That’s what we want. Always to look good. And to buzz through life.

I like that we are lenient regarding the amount of ingredients allowed in a drink. Let us adults make our own choices. Monitoring the use by children is probably a good idea, but if we want to cause self-induced aneurysms, allow it. Don’t hold my hand and tell me what I can and can’t drink. If I want to go to my grave with a Jolt Ultra in my coffin, don’t tell me I can’t.

But, don’t you think it is a little odd that some of the drinks emphasize the evil intent? Maybe we should be cautious, but we won’t. They go too well with vodka.

Happy Holidays!!

With Love,

Bake My Fish
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Written by Bake My Fish

December 20, 2007 at 9:56 pm

How To Fake A Crabasm

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You’ll hate me for saying this but, “I like imitation crab meat.” Yep, the fake stuff. Painted red with food color, containing all types of minced fish, lots of additives, a smidgen of unnatural things, formed into a tube-shaped or flaky, edible mass . . . so sweet and tasty. Mmmmm. It’s great with pasta and salads; low calories, low fat and quite filling. What more could a person want?

Yeah, Marylanders are fuming while reading this. How could a Maryland boy like fake crab? That’s sacrilegious. You think farcical crab is peasant fish. A little-known historical fact was recently revealed in Crab History Revisionist’s Digest. Apparently, during the French Revolution one of the Palace Guards exclaimed to Marie Antoinette, “Your Majesty, the Peasants are revolting!” To which she retorted, “Yes, they are extremely revolting. So, what’s their problem?” The Guard filled her in, “The city is out of fresh crab meat and the people have no crab cakes.” The Queen proclaimed, “Let them eat fake cake.” This was the world’s introduction to imitation crab meat. Sacrebleu. In Maryland, when we’re born, they feed us crab meat and beer shooters right after the delivery to prepare us for future feasts. When our diapers are changed, we’re powdered with Old Bay. The very mention of imitation crab meat is like the cat crapped in your oatmeal.

The Maryland Crabasm Ritual takes place at hundreds of venues, thousands of times a year. Crabs cannot be priced beyond demand. Crab meat is awesome. I could eat it at every meal. Crab soup, crab cakes, crab balls, crab quiche, crab dip, crab, crab, crab. But picking the meat is downright tedious. They are really terrific, but a couple of things are troubling.

First of all, whichever establishment sells you ready-to-eat crabs, competes with all the other crabmongers for the right to be known as “Over-Seasoner of the Year.” Is it just me, or does the crunchy layer of seasoning indicate a bit of an overload? I’m not preparing to eat the shell so the spice is kind of unnecessary, and fighting through 11 inches of colon-cleansing crust is annoying. And I always end up using the seasoning as eye shadow.

Secondly, it seems like a never ending fight to get to a slight morsel of meat when picking through the suckers. I know the argument of it being a social thing, where those gathered have a few suds, chatting with ground crab meat dribbling out of everyone’s mouth (and the small piece sitting on the side of their face that is driving you crazy, but you don’t have the heart to tell them), sweating and sniffling from the heat of the seasoning, eyes watering from spice contamination, slurring their words from the beer, while cutting their fingers incessantly. “Look at me, I got a big gob!” It’s a fun thing. It’s a feast. Then why do you leave hungry?

Give me a plastic bag filled with fake, chemical-laden, artificially-sweetened, red-dyed, chunks of mystery fish anytime. I’ll walk away with clean fingers and clear eyes and my belly will be filled.

Oops, my fake cake just fell apart. Now, I’ll have to make soup.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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Written by Bake My Fish

November 24, 2007 at 11:16 pm

Parasitic Friends

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There is speculation that parasites may be useful in combat against food allergies. That’s comforting. In the back alleys of filthy cities around the world, those rummaging through dumpsters and trash heaps are leaping for joy. They’ve been fighting parasites for years. Liver worms and maggots are a common irritant. The occasional fatal beating by a rampant band of teenage rumblers is a bit of a nuisance. But, food allergies will not be their issue.

In becoming a more sanitary population, we have triggered the side effect of food allergies. It is now common for people, particularly children, to have allergic reactions to many of the foods we take for granted. Eight foods identified with 90% of allergic reactions are: milk, egg, peanut, tree nut, fish, shellfish, soy, and wheat. I am a big advocate of wheat and all the other vittles that could prove fatal to some. I love them all. There is no religion or cult that can keep me away. Allergic reactions could do the trick.

When I was a kid, PB&J was an awesome sandwich. It still is. It’s the only entree where the recipe absolutely has to include white bread, grape jelly and crunchy peanut butter. Served with a glass of whole milk. Not the sissy, lactose-free, non-fat swill I usually drink. If I’m out to commit suicide, gimme a good freaking dairy product. Throw in some real ice cream. “Give me gravy on my mashed potatoes.” It’s not so funny that peanuts and milk can kill. There are about 11 million sufferers of food allergies. That seems a lot.

Studies indicate parasites might actually be good. Some patients with irritable bowel syndrome can improve when exposed to porcine whipworm, which is a pig parasite. In tests comparing lab rats with wild rodents, immune cells from the critters were tested in petri dishes exposing them to plant protein. The cells of the lab rats, who do not live in infectious and parasitic conditions like the wild guys, had a much higher reaction to the protein. Kids who grow up on farms and are constantly exposed to dirt and animals, are allergic to fewer things than those raised in a more sterile environment. The conclusion is parasites are beneficial. They help us build our immune system.

There is no worse feeling than removing a tick from your pet, child or yourself. We always have that unsettling fear there may be something lurking beneath the skin where the tick was attached. Time normally proves there are no ill effects, but the cringe while you’re squishing or burning the creature takes a little getting used to. Ticks are officially classified as ectoparasites (external parasites), but I don’t believe anyone would suggest they are beneficial.

I applaud our desire to be a sanitary nation. I applaud washing our hands after a trip to the latrine (so many don’t). It’s unfortunate the proliferation of food allergies is a result of our need to be clean. Maybe our children should eat a little dirt when we aren’t looking. Or the next time we yell at them for picking their noses, we can think twice about how hideous it may appear. They could be just immunizing themselves when using their sleeve as a handkerchief.

I need to go and take care of this rash. Thanks for the audience.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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Written by Bake My Fish

November 13, 2007 at 8:36 pm

Maynard G. and Crowell – The Bums of Northern Parkway

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First of all, understand these names are fictitious.* I wanted to use monikers that convey some sense of dignity for two individuals holding the title of “Bums of Northern Parkway.”

I work in Baltimore. Many times on my way to the office, I end up sitting at the intersection of Northern Parkway and Falls Road (since I rarely beat the light), in the right lane to turn south on Falls. This is considered the most dangerous intersection in the city (not relevant, just an interesting side note). In the median strip by the left turn lane to go north on Falls Road, one of two interchangeable bums is probably walking back and forth seeking financial assistance from the cars waiting for the light to change. I know bums is a lousy word. We can call them homeless, derelicts, hobos, or some other derogatory term used to poke fun at two fellows who are obviously down on their luck. They don’t have a lobby group or enough people who care to force us to be politically correct. To avoid being mean, we’ll call them Maynard G. and Crowell.

What strikes me is how many people ignore them. Regardless of the weather, the windows that may have been down are hurriedly closed, and the eyes of the drivers focus on anything other than Maynard G. and Crowell. No one seems to be reaching in their pockets or glove box to scrape together a dollar or some spare change to give. It’s easier to think, “Get a job, ” or “I work hard for my money, why should I give it to these beggars?” I understand. But, let’s weigh the situation with regard to Maynard G. and Crowell.

Maynard G. appears to be the victim of a stroke, industrial accident or birth defect. His right side is mostly paralyzed, yet he treks back and forth at a lumbering pace to gain the attention of anyone who will look. His ability to obtain employment seems thwarted. Crowell, on the other hand, borders on healthy enough physically, but probably suffers from a mental condition, handicapping his prospects of a real job. If you watch for awhile, Crowell always goes to the sign at the top of the median at the end of his walk and touches it in four distinct spots, in a very regimented pattern (some say a cross). Crowell won’t be browsing the Business Casual section of Men’s Wearhouse any time soon. Maynard G. and Crowell’s alternatives are slim.

One day a few weeks ago, I landed in the left lane on the other side of the street (the dangerous side) with Maynard G. approaching me. He had been relegated to this location after being dislodged by candy sellers who took over his other spot. Business for them was very good. I reached into my pocket, grabbed a handy dollar left over from lunch, and held it out for Maynard G., who dragged himself as fast as he could, while I worried the light might change. It was only a dollar, but you should have seen his face.

A lot of costumes worn on Halloween are in the Maynard G. and Crowell vain. When I was a kid, Freddie Freeloader was one of my favorite characters on the Red Skelton show. I laughed, and he received accolades. I didn’t think it was mean; it seemed kind of funny. Pan Handling for a living is an acceptable skit. Maynard G. and Crowell are not amused.

Out of a total population of three hundred million Americans, we spend $20 billion dollars a year on ice cream; candy rakes in $46 billion; $8 billion dollars on beer, wine and spirits; NFL Franchises have a combined worth of $20 billion; and sales during Thanksgiving and Black Friday combined must exceed the annual budget of not just a few small cities.

So, the next time ice cream is on the tip of your tongue, while extravagant chocolate melts in your mouth, probably dessert following the Turkey Dinner you’ll take hours to absorb . . . . . just take a nano-moment to think about Maynard G. and Crowell.

Have a nice Thanksgiving with your family. Enjoy the football. Don’t run out of beer.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

* The photos were extracted from the Internet. They are not pictures of Maynard G. and Crowell.

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November 3, 2007 at 7:23 pm

Hope Springs A Kernel

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Who doesn’t like popcorn? Raise your hand. You can’t. Because you do. It’s salty, crunchy, filling, nutritious, contains a reasonable amount of protein, lots of fiber and cheap. All good reasons to love popcorn. The snack is everywhere you go. Nothing says love like popcorn. Kids always smile when they eat it and popcorn is usually associated with some form of entertainment. The statuette for the MTV Awards is a Bronzed Popcorn Tub. How can something so idolized not be good?

Those of you who remember Drive-In Movies might recall the concession breaks with the animated popcorn and hot dog walking across the screen, followed closely by soda. And how about Jiffy Pop? How many times did you ruin a batch? My Jiffy Pop always tasted like tin foil. Maybe I was eating the packaging.

I won’t go into ancient history (given this is a Boomer blog), so I’ll concentrate on recent events related to popcorn.

The popularity of popcorn in modern times began in the 1890s through the Great Depression. Even though families were suffering during the Depression years, the affordability of popcorn, at 5 or 10 cents a bag, was within reach. Most businesses were going belly-up, yet popcorn flourished. There is a story often cited in popcorn-related writings of an Oklahoma banker who lost everything, and then bought a popcorn machine and started a business close to a theater. His popcorn sales made it possible for him to buy back his farms.

World War II brought with it a sugar shortage in the U. S., so popcorn got a charge from the lack of candy. Americans ate three times more popcorn than usual.

But in the 1950s television started taking the families. People stopped going to movies and as a result, less popcorn was being consumed. But, the people realized television was kind of like the movies, only smaller, and they started wanting popcorn at home. Enter Jiffy Pop and all the other versions of home-popped ecstasy.

Then came the microwave, and now we are hooked. I loved going through the office about two hours after lunch. I smelled popcorn. That distinctive smell. You know immediately, “Someone’s making popcorn.” Heads pop up over cubicles, in search of the culprit. The goal is to snatch a few kernels if offered. If not, grab it when they look away. But get some.

The first use of the microwave oven in the 1940s was to cook popcorn. It probably tasted lousy then, but popcorn has been so perfected over the decades, that Americans today consume 17 billion quarts each year. That’s 54 quarts per American. That’s a lot of fiber. Good for the paper industry.

I have to go. The popcorn’s done.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

Written by Bake My Fish

November 1, 2007 at 6:06 pm

Dare To Be Fat

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One of my favorite musicians was Root Boy Slim; circa late 70s – early 80s. He was a genius, who attended Yale University and was a fraternity brother of George W. Bush (in fact when George took over as Fraternity President, he kicked Root Boy out of the club). His real name was Foster McKenzie, III. A noble name for a person thought by most to be a derelict; the type of guy you expected to be living in a Whirlpool refrigerator box over a steam grate in Washington, DC. Well, he did have an apartment above a garage in Silver Spring, MD at one point in time. If you have an interest in him, check out his biography Roots of Root If you attended the University of Maryland during his 15 minutes of fame, you may have seen him at the Varsity Grill or other haunts in the vicinity.

What appealed to me was his Rock/Blues style and the lyrics of his songs. He was a hoot. Some of his bigger “hits” were “I Broke My Mood Ring,” “Boogie ‘Til You Puke,” “Dozin’ and Droolin’,” “Too Sick To Reggae,” and my favorite “Dare To Be Fat.” He died about a month before his 48th birthday. Not surprising, since he was obese and abused every chemical substance possible. My purpose here is not to sell you on the wonder and fascination of Root Boy Slim . . . . it is to lead into “Dare To Be Fat.”

Most Boomers are daring their bodies to live with the medical marvel of maintaining obesity via drugs and surgery. Our bodies can only take so much, not to mention our Health Care System. Since January 15th, I have lost 60 lbs (still 25 to go). I’m not looking to win the Nobel Prize for Weight Loss, I just don’t want to die before age 60. Surely, my early demise could be caused by some other disease or calamity; however, it won’t be obesity that takes me away. Although it may seem cavalier given my own indiscretions, I am concerned about how our Health Care System has suffered because of our Life Style.

I take a few drugs, which I want to discontinue. Medication for hypertension and high cholesterol, both of which can be attributed to allowing my body to grow to the point of obscenity, are a reality. Is it fair to those who take care of themselves to allow the Health Care System to keep me in check? These drugs are not cheap. Even though I absorb a co-payment, the overpriced cost of the medications is borne by the System. Sure, we can blame the drug companies for charging too much, but don’t we share some of that blame? If we didn’t eat ourselves silly, there would be no need for the drugs and no Pharmaceutical Companies to attack.

I don’t want to appear as some hero simply because I lost weight. I want those who are challenging the Health Care System to understand that it is only a band-aid. Sixty-years-old is young. Obesity takes too many of us well before we should go. I want to work until I am at least 70. Not just because I selfishly want to live a long time; I enjoy the office atmosphere and being around people. Cutting it short unnecessarily, because I felt the need for too many bagels, doughnuts, Big Macs, Double Cheeseburgers and super-sized this and that, seems a waste. Yeah all those things taste good, but they’re deadly. Pay attention to what you are consuming before you are at the point of no return. Losing weight is not particularly enjoyable. I feel deprived. I also feel good.

Get a scale, and get on it every morning. As your clothes start to feel tight, eat a salad. Drink a diet soda. Consume less. Exercise. It’s not the American Way, but don’t you think it’s odd that half the world is starving, while the other half is trying to lose weight?

That’s my speech for the day. Fat Guy signing off.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

The Right To Bare Arms

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Tis summer and shoes might not be worn. You can’t go into a food joint without shoes or a shirt. Can you go in with bare arms? It depends on the number of tattoos and/or needle marks, I suppose. As Americans, we have a Constitutional Right to Bare Arms. Tank tops are possibly acceptable if you are female (and in decent shape). If you are a fat guy with a serious belly protruding, you may want to rethink your wardrobe.

The wearing of baseball caps in an eating establishment is common these days. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps I am old-fashioned and think a cap should be removed, but I live in a somewhat “Redneck” area and it seems to me there is not a second thought with regard to baseball caps. Let’s not dwell on the amount of grime on the sweat band. What the heck, no one sees it. It’s there, digging into the forehead of the wearer, and most likely not healthy. I don’t have scientific proof as to how unsanitary it might be. Sweat and dirt are a gross combination, so there is probably evidence to suggest the touching of the rim and constant removing of the cap and replacing it could lead to some form of bacterial contamination. Then there is the running of the hand through the hair before replacing the cap. That cannot be good. If he (I say he because few women wear caps) goes to the rest room, the odds are not in your favor he is washing his hands after whatever bathroom activity he has completed (I’m amazed at the number of men who leave the latrine without doing so).

If the guy wearing the cap touches a chicken wing on the buffet bar and puts it back (unobserved by you), is that wing healthy? You won’t know until you are ill from the lack of sanitation, which you didn’t know was a problem because, “out of sight, out of mind.” No, you have to depend on your immune system filtering the bacteria he transmits while his fat ass is fingering the food.

It may be somewhat possible to determine the extent of contamination based on the stains on his T-shirt. If there are only a few, maybe it’s safe; however, if he just came in from the construction site and went directly to the all-you-can-eat bar without visiting the men’s room for a wash, you are in trouble. Should you spend your meal worrying about him washing? Most of us don’t. We trust the restaurant is clean and the patrons are thoughtful.

We do have the Right to Bare Arms. But, we don’t have the right to crap on our neighbors’ plate. Wearing a cap in a restaurant is inconsiderate to those who don’t. Then again, to regulate it is another form of Government intervention we can live without. As long as we survive the food-borne disease.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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Written by Bake My Fish

May 23, 2007 at 12:01 am