A Plate-o Clyde's Ribs

A Plate-o Clyde's Ribs
Originally uploaded by thegreatplotnik.

Last night, Chef Picklenik read us a story about growing up in Hotlanta. For six months, as an eleven-year-old, she was taken off food by her mother in order to lose weight. Instead, all day long she swallowed pills, and could drink only water, while all her friends were scarfing down barbecue, butter beans in fatback and home made peach ice cream. A plate-o Clyde's ribs was out of the question.

The diet worked, all right, but what Chef Picklenik said about it was the interesting part. She said that to someone who loves food as much as she does, "it was like taking away my paints." An artist without brushes. A writer without a pencil.

The Great Plotnik has been thinking about that, because, duh, he loves to eat too. He would rather read a cookbook than a novel, go to a wine and food pairing than a World Series, prepare dinner for friends than go the movies. Most often, he'd rather eat that dinner than go to the finest restaurant in Saint Plotniko.

It galls him to pay $17.95 for a piece of goobered-up farmed salmon when he knows he can make a far better meal for a fourth of the price, to pay $25 for a $7 bottle of wine, to have the whole dining experience be as uplifting as a flight to Stiletto City on Ted.

Chef Picklenik, now thin and gorgeous, is required to bring food to writer's group. Mmmm, key lime pie. Mmmm, cream cheesy sundried tomatoey herby spready thing. Mmmm.