The Kitchen as a War Zone: You Call That Edible?
[Listen or download Burt's reading of this story in MP3.]
Recently, I wrote a piece in which I mentioned that there are certain things that I would never want to see on my dinner plate — things such as squirrels, snakes, ostriches and rabbits — no matter how much certain people insist they taste like chicken. Besides, if I want something that tastes exactly like chicken, why wouldn’t I simply order chicken?
Frankly, I’m amazed at the variety of things we humans consume. I mean, imagine being the very first person to look at a turkey or a crab and saying, “Yum yum, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into that!” They must have been certifiably bonkers or very, very hungry. And who was the odd duck who first considered supping on a lobster, and just how did he decide between that and a lump of coal? Did he flip a coin?
I suppose what we consider edible is partly a matter of geography and partly a matter of the type of home in which we were raised; like so many other things, partly nature and partly nurture. In my case, my mother, otherwise a fine, upstanding woman, didn’t put a great deal of stock in cooking. It just wasn’t something that captured her imagination. You might say she had something of a green thumb, but employed it in the kitchen instead of the garden, where such things belong.
Long before Cajun cuisine made its mark on America, my mother was blackening everything from hamburgers to cookies. Even without a barbecue, she managed to instill charcoal flavoring in all her dishes.
The two items, though, that never failed to strike terror in my heart were her salmon patties and her coup de grace, gefilte fish. That poor fish suffered through two funerals. The first took place when they were caught, the second when they died all over again in our kitchen.
In retrospect, I think the main problem with the salmon patties is that they contained more egg than salmon, which would probably explain why they had large yellow blotches, making them look as if they had passed away of a rare tropical disease.
The problem with gefilte fish is that it tastes as unappetizing as it sounds. On the plus side, my mom’s version of the dish was no worse than anyone else’s. On the minus side, it wasn’t any better. Until I looked it up just now, I didn’t know what went into making those things. If you’re taking notes, they start out as carp that’s been deboned. It’s then ground into a paste and mixed with eggs, onions and bread or matzo meal. Finally, it’s poached in a stock made from the head and bones of the poor victim. As a result, it’s one of those rare items that smells every bit as good as it tastes.
There are, believe it or not, people — people to whom I’m related — who actually regard it as a delicacy, and who would probably insist it tastes just like chicken.
And what’s more, they’d be right, if they’re talking about gefilte chicken.
Television writer Burt Prelutsky is the author of Conservatives Are From Mars, Liberals Are From San Francisco (101 Reasons Why I’m Happy I Left the Left).
squirrels and rabbits DON’T taste just like Chicken (but they do taste like each other). Chicken mostly tastes like what you cook it in
What folks really mean when they say “tastes just like chicken: is “It has a fairly mild taste, so whatever sauce/breading/spices you put on it tends to dominate the taste”
I have not had squirrel or rabbit in about 15 years. It’s not bad, but as you can tell, I’m not a great fan. The last few times Dad and I went squirrel hunting, we looked at each other, and decided NOT to actually shoot any (in fact, we didn’t load the guns) – it was an excuse to get out in the woods and fields together on a nice fall day. Gad, how I miss that, now that Dad can’t even get out of bed
Do not dis the noble squirrel! Tree rat is a delicacy reserved for the discriminating palate. Brunswick stew on a cold day is life at its finest.
kg2v– Best wishes to your father. Lost mine years ago, and days in the duck blind with him were the best days of my life.
Happy Thanksgiving all.
/Off to smoke a turkey.
Hunger is the mother of culinary invention.
I think whoever invented fish head soup must have been starving. And there must have been some very lean times in Japanese history.
Prelutsky, you’re a funny guy. But your mother wrecked your taste buds forever. Rabbit is like chicken? Dude, you’ve been depriving yourself. Get out of the Valley. All is not In ‘n Out Burger. Start with Lapin a La Dijonnaise from Daniel Boulud. You could go from there to a good Spanish conejo.
As for gefilte fish, in the hands of an expert, like hometown LA chef Evan Kleiman, it’s a delicacy for the Hebrew Kings. If you haven’t, try one of Evan’s Passover Seders at Angeli on Melrose. She’s a master of Italian Jewish cooking, one of the great cuisines.
And that, in a nutshell, is why I love this country…
Dear Roger: You have defamed not only my taste buds, but my sainted mother. You can expect to hear from my seconds. It’s matzo balls at 20 paces.
Burt Prelutsky
If something produces more nutrition than it takes to procure, it’s delicious. When your nutritional needs no longer are met by the provided food, it’s disgusting.
I love trout, but one summer my parents flew my wife and I into an isolated lake in Alaska. Trout were wrestling each other to get to the tackle box because we couldn’t take them out of the lake fast enough using the rod and reel. After two days of eating trout, I never wanted to eat another trout again, and freeze dried stroganoff was wonderful.
Turns out that trout don’t provide enough fat to live on…especially in Alaska. We were starving ourselves.
Turkeys provide a lot of protein and fat, although they didn’t become a serious food source until relatively recently. Wild turkeys are quite difficult to hunt compared to a variety of other game animals. Even so, in starvation times, a turkey looks like dinner.