The Acid Test

Los Angeles, California

Writing a blog is fraught with peril. While you think you're writing for yourself, or, as in my case, using the blog as an exercise for writing, you still are mindful of the fact of readers. People out there are reading what you write. So there is a temptation, small though it might be, to try to please your readers. And, frankly, you can't do that. I mean, for me, the real lesson in blog writing is that some people are going to like some of what I write sometimes. And conversely . . . you get the idea.

It's a lot like food. Some time back, in some former blog post (available here, for free!), I wrote that if you have a narrow bandwidth when it comes to food, you should exit the building NOW, or words to that effect. Again, except for my hate on goat cheese, Billy and I eat pretty much everything, and I'm glad for that. And we are able to do this while still maintaining a fairly healthy diet. I often say that we're good ninety-five percent of the time, so that we can be really bad for the other five percent (case on point: the Dodger dog I consumed the other night while the Dodgers were beating the Mariners in the last game of pre-season play). Life would be unbearable if we were to endeavor to eat healthily all of the time. On this front at least, we're simply not fanatics about anything except enjoying food that tastes really, really good. A lot of the time that food is also good for us. And, sometimes, it's not.

While Billy and I are both pretty much omnivores, we come to it from very different experiences. My father was strict about what my sister and I ate as children. We had to try everything on our plates, and could only leave one thing (which was cleverly called a "leave"). This meant that I struggled through peas, lima beans, spinach, oatmeal, and lots of other things that a lot of kids refuse to eat. I came out the other side actually liking these foods --even the green ones. My parents also allowed us to serve ourselves so that we had an idea about portions. Nothing made my mother crazier than a young (or old!) dinner guest who piled food on their plate and then ate little or none of it.

And, while we also went out to eat quite often, I don't ever recall eating hot dogs or hamburgers in restaurants, when I was young. I also never realized, until I was an adult with roommates, that macaroni and cheese could be purchased in a box. It just wasn't the way we ate. When, at around age ten, I ordered a whole cracked crab at a restaurant in Santa Barbara, the waitress turned to my mother and advised her that it was a whole crab. "She knows that," my mother said, adding "She can handle it." And I could.

Billy, on the other hand, grew up with solid midwestern-style food. The obvious difference between home meals in Billy's family and mine was this: In my family, we came to the table when the food was ready; in Billy's, when everyone was finally rounded up to the table, the food was taken off the fire. Medium-rare and al dente not being words bandied around there at any time. What he got was lots of meat, and lots of corn, potatoes, and root vegetables. Ice cream? Always. And not much admonishing to eat the green things, or anything for that matter. And yet, he's also an adventurous eater. Go figure.

A lot of our friends don't eat certain things. In some cases, this stems from conviction, religious or otherwise. In others, it has something to do with health issues, or current diet trends like avoidance of gluten. And I'm ok with all of that. But I do have a problem with adults who haven't grown out of the yuck stage. In a John Larroquette Show episode, the "yuck" was how the part of the egg which connects the white to the yolk was described. It's that opaque white part, visible when the egg is raw. I'm sure it has a real name, but do we really care what that is? For all practical purposes, let's just call it "the yuck." A word familiar to us all, because we used it in childhood to describe food that we found, well, yucky. But we're adults now, and most of us have gotten over it. We've learned that lobsters start out as ugly, mottled, gray-colored bugs, only turning brilliantly red after we've thrown them into a pot of boiling water. We know that caviar are fish eggs, and that sashimi and carpaccio are fish and beef (usually) served raw. And if we've allowed our palates to evolve, we know that these things taste really, really yummy.

A friend of mine once forwarded me an article written by someone who had decided to prepare an elaborately complicated meal for friends. In it, the author stated that he didn't want to be invited to someone's home for a roast chicken and store-bought ice cream. That wasn't his idea of entertaining, nor of being entertained. I don't agree with this. I think a wonderfully roasted chicken is one of the most delectable treats which can be offered to dinner guests, provided that they're not vegetarians. And, as long as the ice cream isn't Kroger's or Safeway brand, I can go with it, as there are some wonderful artisinal ice creams to be had at retail today (and let's face it, who among us is above eating plain old Ben & Jerry's, either?). My point being that I'm fine and dandy with good quality but simple food (especially since, ostensibly, the object of the exercise it is spending time, while breaking bread, with family and friends). But if you want to serve me something exotic, I will not only eat it, I will probably really enjoy it (unless it contains goat cheese, and I'm really sorry about that). And, not to put too fine a point on it, if you do serve me goat cheese, I won't exclaim "eeuuww or yuck" at your table. I'll probably try to eat a little of it, even though, for me, continuing to try to cultivate a taste for goat cheese is akin to trying to board a vessel that sailed a long, long time ago. It's all the way around the Cape by now. But, trust me, I really did try.

A few years ago we were traveling in northern California and were invited to someone's home for dinner. They were friends of the friends we were staying with in Tahoe. For dessert, a homemade cheesecake was presented. Now, cheesecake is probably my least favorite dessert. But I did eat it, while trying not to obsess about the calories and fat I was consuming while not really enjoying it (our friend, Susan's, Boston Cream Pie would have been well worth it's caloric content, two slices worth). But, it was a pretty good cheesecake, as cheesecakes go. The next day we drove to Sonoma county to visit with other friends. Guess what they had purchased for dessert to celebrate Billy's birthday? Chocolate cheesecake. Again, I ate a slice of it. I have not had cheesecake since then, and it's been a couple of years. Hopefully it won't cross my path again for while. But I was raised to stifle the 'yuck' and eat most of what is put in front of me (after asking for a very small slice). There are certainly worse fates.

When the fates are with me, and I run across something that tastes amazing, I am eternally grateful and want everyone I know to try it. But, like writing, not all food is appealing to everyone. As an example of this, here is my current test on the yuck vs yummy factor. It's called Kaya Toast, and it is on the menu at Susan Feniger's Street, here in Los Angeles. It's probably one of the most delicious things I have ever tasted. The first time I tried it, after my very first bite, I moaned. The second time, I couldn't stop omigod escaping from my lips several times. It is sensuously sweet, and salaciously savory and salty and richly exotic, all wrapped up into one insanely, deliciously yummy treat. And this is how it is described on the menu:

Kaya Toast a uniquely Street experience. Toasted bread spread thick with coconut jam; served with a soft fried egg drizzled in dark soy and white pepper.

We were introduced to this by our friends, Todd and Christopher. We were a party of four that night, and, even though they had had it before, all of our eyes lit up when we first dipped the coconut-jam sandwich quarters into the egg yolk which had broken open and pooled into the seasoned soy surrounding it. Praises were sung. And another plate of it was ordered. The next time we were there, again with T & C, we both started and ended with this dish (the restaurant's menu features small plates of "street food" from all over the world). Many of the dishes we tried were really good. But Kaya Toast was stellar.

After that first time when we went to Street and had Kaya Toast, I told a lot of people about it. Their responses to the description of the dish ran the gamut from that sounds really disgusting, to can we go have this, like, today? The people in the "can we have this" group obviously being the ones nearest and dearest to my gastronomic heart. The ones with whom I might want to enjoy all kinds of food, including, specifically, Kaya Toast. I think it's the acid test. So, if you think you're in this group who would pass this test with colors flying, feel free to let me know. Billy and I would even be perfectly willing to go along to support, witness, and, well, share it with you. Oh, and, as an added incentive, I promise that this time I will try to control that moaning thing. Omigod, thanks for reading my blog!