Well folks, it seems like most of my posts are about how neglectful I’ve been with this blog.

This one is no different: it’s been over ONE YEAR since I last wrote and the amount of comment spam coming in for moderation seems to be increasing exponentially, almost like gathering vultures of doom, waiting for this poor neglected blog to gasp its last breath.

Or maybe, that’s the guilt talking.

Either way, I’m back in the saddle, waving away the spampires and thinking about a little housecleaning.

I’m contemplating merging this blog with my OTHER neglected blog on photography which you can check out at www.ClayGiraffe.com . If you go back to Oct/Nov of 2006, I wrote a couple fun entries about my monthlong trip to Italy. While I don’t specifically describe the food (because I kept thinking I should write it here), I couldn’t completely avoid talking about it because in my heart of hearts, I AM Foodmuse and gosh darn it, I was in BOLOGNA, ITALY for gods sake.

So I think I should merge the 2 bloggy beasties. What do you think?
I shall do some contemplation at Costco, while cruising the sample wares…

Meanwhile, if you’ve got any ideas or thoughts on the matter, send them to
FM at Foodmuse dot ORG

Cheers!

I ate the mango from Pakistan U’s mother gave me while packing up and preparing to leave London this morning.

She said, “Don’t stand on ceremony, just eat it.” So I took her advice and gave it a try.

Still in my pajamas, I took it into my hotel bathroom. I easily peeled back the skin with my fingers. Oozing juices, its musky fragrance began to fill the room as I started to consume it over the marble sink.

I bit off chunks of sweet flesh, the thin fibres sticking between my teeth and worked my way around the fruit, learning to avoid the less ripe, lighter colored sections, while devouring and sucking the seed to get the last bits of orange sweetness where it was best.

When I was done, I looked up and a wild-haired, wide-eyed, mango-mouthed girl gazed back at me from the mirror.

I had never eaten a mango like that before. I was a convert.

Now pass me the dental floss.

Here’s something I don’t get. In the Star Wars series, Yoda’s 900+ years old. That’s old. That’s older than old, that’s almost a different Geological Age. But if you look at him in the prequel movies, he looks noticably younger than he does in the original movies. I mean the Queen’s going to be pregnant with Luke and Leah in the upcoming release, right? So unless her pregnancy lasted, say 300 years or something, the time delta between this movie and the original Star Wars is only like 17-25 years max. If you’re already 900 years old, another 20 years shouldn’t cause you to wrinkle up like a prune (see, this is about food)!

So what’s with the aging and extra wrinkles? Were the interim years that traumatic for Yoda? Did he lose access to Botox treatments when he hid out on the swampy planet of Dagobah?

In honor of the Revenge of the Sith media clips that have penetrated my consciousness enough to remind me of this annoying tidbit, here are a few of my food related pet peeves. Please excuse my bad writing in advance. Dwelling on annoyances make my fingers incoherant.

Why do we have to switch hands when we use a Fork and Knife during a meal?
I don’t think they make this utensil switch in Europe but this just means they end up using their fork with their non-predominant hand. For example, if I were eating in Germany, as a right-handed person I’d use my knife with my right hand and fork with my left.

But this is just crazy to me as the fork is the more important utensil. To get around this hassle, I just trained myself to cut with my left hand so I can continue to eat with my right. No silly switching and swapping of cutlery with every bite.

I’m not saying that everyone needs to make this change and I myself switch back to the standard method if I’m eating at a tightly packed table (to keep from bumping elbows), but believe me, this is far more efficient and seemly than the standard methods of eating ettiquette dictates.

Unless I’m at a fine-dining establishment, I almost always ask for a straw for my non-alcoholic beverage (including water). I just have a hard time trusting that those glasses are really clean around the rim.

I hate Evian water. I’d rather drink tap water than Evian. Evian is like water with no personality, like a finger without fingerprints. It tastes weirdly flat and peculiar in my mouth and I’m never able to take more than a single sip of it. I just don’t understand the allure of this stuff.

But back to Yoda… He shouldn’t be wrinklier after a few years! Swampy, humid Dagobah should have been hydrating to his delicate green skin.

On the other hand, maybe he didn’t drink enough water. Maybe they only had Evian.

Have you ever made a dish that seemed to have magical properties? Here’s one I’ve experienced.

Over the years, I’ve turned into a cauliflower junkie. I love it pureed in soups, gratins, cooked in various Italian dishes, heavily spiced in Indian dishes and even fresh, broken up into tiny florets for salads.

One day a few years ago, I found a simple preparation method on eGullet, the very popular food site & user forum. They advocated simply breaking the fresh cauliflower up and broiling it with a little drizzling of olive oil, salt and pepper.

I was hooked. The broiling/roasting brought out the sweetness of the vegetable, retaining some of the texture while softening it for easy eating. Made like this, it makes a nice (low carb!) replacement to traditional starches like mashed potatoes or rice.

But here’s the magical part. One day, I decided to eat my broiled cauliflower with a homemade tomato/marinara sauce. It was very delicious.

The next morning I woke up with the most dewy, rosy, smooth, perfect complexion I can ever remember having. I just couldn’t stop looking at myself in the mirror that morning. I felt very vain and full of myself.

I thought about what could have contributed to such a remarkable change. The only thing that came to mind was that cauliflower and tomato dish I had the night before.

Alas, the effect did not last long. The following morning I was back to being my own freckley self.

I’ve never gone back and tried that magical combination though I’ve had roasted cauliflower several times since. But I don’t think I’ll every forget that amazing morning transformation I still attribute to the magical dish of white & red.