Captain’s Log 5,227
The feasting is over for another year. I gave up feasting a long time ago. Food no longer holds the appeal it once did. I have the most unrefined palate in the entire world, so fancy sauces and intricate spices are lost on me. I cannot tell the difference between cheap wine and something that costs $100 a bottle. Same for beer. I just don’t have that blessing. Since it all tastes pretty much the same, I would rather have a Diet Coke. I know when something is spoiled. At least I have that. And I know when things are overly spicy. I’m not a fan of eating food so hot you can’t taste it. I used to watch a fellow I worked with eat those tiny little red chili peppers found in Thai food. He would sweat and he would choke. What’s the point? And then you always have to think about how you are going to survive the fire butt that is inevitable several hours later.
I am intimidated by people who cook. I invited a lovely young couple over to my house yesterday before discovering that the wife spends 4 hours making lasagna. Who spends four hours cooking anything? OMG! I don’t have four hours to make lasagna! I have books to read and floors to sweep and hummingbirds to feed. The closest I can come is making a lemon meringue pie from scratch. I can do the stir constantly for 15 minutes part without too much trouble. But I have to sing along to Abba when I do. Abba Gold. It’s the only way to stir constantly.
Friends George and Mage found me another hideous teapot for the white elephant party I attend every Christmas. This is what they found for me this year.
This hideous little teapot is beyond awful. I posted this photo on Facebook yesterday and people actually liked it. Maybe it’s me? I think it’s really festive with the tape holding the book down. That’s where the water goes.
This is last year’s amazing and truly awful thing. The guy who opened it at the party LOVED it!
So I am beginning to think it’s me. I don’t understand food. And I certainly don’t understand how people can like these truly ugly ceramic teapots.
One year, I brought a ceramic ocarina in the shape of a penis. Nobody even laughed. Nor did they laugh the year I brought a can of spotted dick.
I just don’t get it. It’s simply heat and eat and everything! What could be better?
One year, I brought home an iron mace. The real deal. On a chain and everything. I have it hanging from the ceiling above my piano.