At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

CHOCOLATE RABBITS ARE WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD

While researching Vegan spiral cut ham, possibly for this year's Easter Charity Dinner of the Firm Health Orphanage -- the 2016 event was less than well-attended, perhaps because the celebratory meal featured "a festive vegetarian bean smorgasbord" -- one item among my previous essays caught my eye. Beans, by the way, are not celebratory.


"I would far rather see a naughty nursy-wursy in the hallway mirror, holding a freshly baked apple pie. The naked man who pops up occasionally is not really my type."


At that point I realized that all the best pastry crusts for pies are made with lard. Clarified shortening. Hog fat. And it also brought my dislike of food fads, gluten-phobes, vegans, kale-snarfers, and all others of the dreadful puritanical Protestant social type into sharp focus.

Other people with whom I would, on the whole, rather not have to associate include people who voted for Stein, Trump, Johnson, and also many of the Bernie supporters whose vociferation helped sabotage the election. Berkeleyites, Marinites, Southern Californians. Anti-vaxxers, health food freaks, and the dingoes who believe celebrities.

When you think about it, a nurse holding a hot apple pie is a remarkably wholesome and cheering concept. Fresh, clean, alluring.


If I ever decide to celebrate anything Easter-ish in a family context, with cheap chockies and screaming little kids running around, I will make sure that there is at least one nurse making pies in the kitchen.

Gender somewhat irrelevant.



I still remember my keen disappointment at chocolate bunnies. That horrid smell, the disturbing lack of realistic details (as if designed by someone who just didn't care), and the fact that it was hollow with thin brittle walls.
It made a mockery of my childish conceptual delight. And it tasted fake.




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