This Waffle Person Thinks Like I Do

My cravings are rarely for "sweet;" I nearly always crave savory. Plus, I generally feel gross after overindulging my sweet tooth. It follows, then, that for my POWER BREAKFASTS I make eggs and toast or only-subtly-sweetened oatmeal. And when I eat out for breakfast or brunch, I ALWAYS order something eggy -- omelets, frittatas, scrambles, what have you.

This doesn't change the fact that the most beautiful or creative items on many a brunch menu are the waffles drenched in butter and syrup. I always order the damn eggs, I ALWAYS do -- and then I ALWAYS stare in unbridled and unashamed jealousy at the person to my left gasping in ecstasy (almost made an egg pun; wouldn't have made sense) at the gorgeous waffle-y stack before her.

GOD.

Anyways, RLK sent me this page in full knowledge of how much I would enjoy it: http://www.waffleizer.com/

Check it out. The way this person feels about waffles inspires me; we should all be so lucky as to feel this blind passion toward something in our lives. It makes me believe that I too could one day overcome my predilections and predispositions toward the savory and attempt the sweet.

(Also, can we all agree that waffle fries are the best form of fried potato? NEW POLL!!!)

The Categorical Imperatives of Salad

I generally feel a little lame ordering a salad at restaurants -- after all, one of the reasons to eat out is to benefit from the wisdom and verve of a real chef. Salads are often the menu items which involve the least skill or forethought, and so I compensate by ordering Cobb salads, stacked with bacon, chicken, egg, etc. Somehow, it helps.

Photo: Flickr CC/Nemo's great uncle

But tonight, as I chowed down a Cobb at Trio on 17^th and Q NW (Washington, DC), this flexibility as to what constitutes a salad ate at me even as I ate at it (HUMOR!). So what IS a salad? What makes a salad a salad and not something else? What are the necessary conditions of salad-ness?

After much thought and some debate with Liz, I contend that four key factors lie at the firmament of any salad:

1. A salad is a stand-alone food – it does not inherently require a complementary food outside itself;
2. A salad is composed of a semi-random mixture or “tossing” of multiple distinct ingredients, each of which exists as a legitimate food unto itself;
3. The ingredients of a salad are themselves fully cooked or prepared prior to inclusion into the salad;
4. A salad must have a dressing, sauce, or relish which complements and connects disparate ingredients.

NOTE: The above are all, of course, reliant upon the general intent of the salad creator and each can be perverted for the creation of pseudo-salads, such as fruit salad which (with few exceptions) has no unifying dressing.

These attributes, I feel, constitute a sort of set of Kantian categorical imperatives; properties necessary to the nature of the proposition (in this case, a salad). They exclude some related foods, such as mixed nuts, dips and stews while effectively including salads ranging from traditional vegetable salads (leafy-greens-based or otherwise) to chicken, potato, pasta, tuna, and even Waldorf salads.

The key, however, as mentioned above, is intent. What makes a salad a dish and not just a pile of random foods is that a Creator-figure (e.g. chef) intentionally chose the elements and combined them in a pleasing way. Whether working from a recipe or improvising on a theme, human creative energy is a necessary condition for a true salad.

I know that this and other descriptors are controversial, and some people seek to modify salads in such a way that they cease to be salads. One common example of this is the situation in which people take a perfectly well-designed, intentional salad and ask that it be served without dressing. These are no longer salads; they are crimes against salads – aberrations of the lowest sort. This denies the plan of the Salad Creators and the salad's intended deliciousness.

As a final note, I'll add that the dressing factor (Key Factor Four) was a tough call. Traditional fruit salad is considered by many a salad and excluding it was no easy decision. But I feel strongly that fruit salad, while delicious, is far more reliant upon the inherent tastiness of the fruit than upon the techniques, talents, and recipes of the chef.

Oh, and the Cobb at Trio was pretty good.

Wicked Good Milk

Most Americans are a reflection of or a reaction to their parents in three key respects: in religious belief, in political orientation, and in milk-fat-content preference.

I am a skim milk guy, having been raised on it. The weight and density of whole milk, in my opinion, make it suitable only for making sugar cereal decadent or for perfecting coffee. 2% is an acceptable compromise, particularly for coffee, but I'd still rather be drinking skim milk.

I know the complaints - skim milk is too watery, too thin, too whatever. I suppose that really just amounts to one complaint. It's not that I don't concede the point, it's more that I don't care, and lower density milk is probably ideal for a guy who drinks at least a gallon a week.

At least, I used to concede the point, but then I tried Real Skim Milk. Fresh skim milk, milk from cows that only ate grass and hay (NOT corn), from cows situated just a few miles away. Milk milked that very day. Now, I wasn't seeking this milk out; I was semi-desperate coming home from work - the three convenience stores on my walk were out of skim. So I tried this bodega on the corner of my street, a little store which only sells things no one ever needs. Except, apparently, milk.

They sell this local milk, skim included, in big, half-gallon glass jugs with plastic covers. It was expensive - more on that - but I eat oatmeal made with milk every morning, snack on milk and cereal, and drink a glass of milk or more pretty much every time I sit down at my table. So ain't no mountain high enough.

And wow. This skim milk was identifiably not as creamy as whole, but it had such flavor! Such character! as to differentiate it quite entirely from the rest of the skim family. Frothier, smoother, deeper, and much more complex than supermarket milk, I'm actually not even using it for oatmeal and use it only stingily for cereal. It's that good to drink. This skim milk is to that other skim as FDR was to Grover Cleveland, as a Cadillac is to a Daewoo, as the Sun is to other stars: clearly the same elemental stuff, but so, so much better.

A final note: including a two dollar deposit for the bottle, this half-gallon cost $6.75. Damn - I'm not made of money, and at nearly 3 times the rate of the crappy stuff, this milk will have to be an infrequent treat. Good thing I can return the bottle...