Think of all the forbidden words in the world. This of all the unmentionable things that have reversed status recently. How can we expand the boundaries when they barely exist. As I contemplate the last frontier on this I make an exploding sandwich to give me courage to go where no woman has been before. Watch this video first, then read the rest of the blog post.
Tramezzini is a type of crust-less bread popular in Italy. It’s used in making yummy sandwiches. You can put almost anything in them. I tried to cut them up in interesting ways so that it would like the sandwich exploded and combine it with a poem I wrote called “Last Forbidden Topic”. I used mayo, sliced chicken breast. For a special twist I added mango chutney. It gave it a kick. A sandwich that is about to explode should be spicy. Don’t you agree?
I suppose this would be great for mother’s day. Make sure to recite the poem before serving the sandwich.
I decided to take a break from video making. Although it is a fun playful activity that encourages creativity, I felt I should put my head down and focus on finishing the novel. Eliminate all distractions. However the universe sometimes has a way of tapping you on the shoulder, asking you to pay attention. Last Friday, the family had dinner at a Chinese restaurant. This was my fortune cookie.
So I simply obeyed. For this Food For Thought video, I used a poem that will be in my new novel. I had the recording of it conveniently sitting on my hard drive. I had used the poem to warm up my voice when recording the story On Finding Purpose. I came across some tramezzini in my local supermarket by accident and boom! here it is. This was probably one of the easiest videos I ever made.
The novel is going well! I finished the first draft two weeks ago and currently am working on the second draft. I am hoping to have it done by the end of this year. Still can’t decide on a name. I come up with a new name every two days. Today it is called “Egging” I like the mischievous connotation the word brings up. I also like how ugly it sounds when you say it. There is a harshness in three g’s in such a small little word that I find appealing. The way the word invites to contort your face into a grimace when you say it. But, who knows I might change my mind again in a few days.
sliced chicken breast
Salt and paper.
fig balsamic vinegar reduction
Spread chutney on a tremezzini
place second tremezzini on top of the first one.
spread mayo on top
place the chicken slices
salt and pepper
spread mayo on third tramezzini
place the third bread on top with mayo side down.
cut up into funky shapes. Be creative here.
Spread all the garnish on a tray and place last forbidden words exploding sandwich pieces on top.
Forbidden words exploding sandwich got eaten with a side of cauliflower soup.
Last Forbidden Words Poem
There are no more forbidden topics left.
Let nothing remain unsaid.
Discuss the flow rate of body fluid exchange.
Raise naked tourists up on holy mountains.
Bring God down to earth.
Wish poetry dead.
Flip a sentimental family value for breakfast.
Come on! Don’t be a gent.
There are no more secret territories left. Except for one.
Things are about to heat up in here. If you are squeamish, get out now.
One last forbidden topic.
I relish hearing that pop.
Mothers who cook badly—that is what I am talking about.
Before we proceed, I need to clarify.
I am not talking about myself. I just heard a rumor of such a Sasquatch sighting.
I am the privileged speaking on behalf of the less fortunate.
I myself am a good cook.
Feel free to ask anybody. Just don’t ask my children.
We place food porn on a pedestal.
Like its other cousin, just like the tooth fairy, that stuff isn’t real.
Soggy sandwiches for lunch.
Standardized menu with the same boring food, day in, day out.
Tasteless bland stews.
Spices and garnishes out.
Soup that tastes of soaked dirty socks.
Spaghetti with a crunch.
Moldy bread loaf that has sat around too long.
A bloody, undercooked steak.
Sugar replaced by salt in carrot cake.
Icing that is a train wreck.
Home cuisine that makes airplane meals seem better than sex.
What is it that makes somebody go on and on?
Without talent. No ability. No artistic touch.
No inspiration. No music.
No dream. No song in the heart.
No veggie thumb.
Just a burden to stomach.
Insisting, three times a day, on putting slop on a plate.
That is what I call love.
It is hard work to do that which you are poor at
above and beyond.
So eat up those vegetables before you grow up.
Only your mother is willing to cook for you badly.
That is why most of the finest chefs in world are men.
They are not motivated by duty.
Meh! They just have talent.