(no subject)
I've been trying to convince myself that I like tofu. It all started in (what else?) a sociology lecture the other day, on a Marxist perspective of why poor people are unhealthy. Well gang, of course there are a lot of fairly easy answers to that one (those commies have an answer to everything); chief among them being diet. That, of course, got me thinking. Which got me talking to Mark, who insisted that our steady diet of Kraft Dinner would be best augmented by more - you geussed it - meat.
I don't stomach meat very well. I'm not talking about the moral implications - ecology and all that jazz - I mean, I really don't stomach it well. I can have white meat once in a blue moon, but for the most part, meat makes my stomach make some very weird noises.
I mentioned this to a friend, who suggested that I try tofu. Great alternative, she said! Very versatile, she said!
So, last night after Mark and I got back from Gabriola, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up some tofu.
It wasn't all that bad last night. I fried it up in some vegetable oil with seasoned salt and some 'southwestern blend' crap that Mark bought (he's all about 'blends', as if it's rocket science to find two spices that go together). By the end, it had the texture of undercooked scrambled eggs. Edible, sort of, but I was a bit freaked out that my normally ravenous cats wanted nothing to with it, and the rats looked at me like I was crazy when I offered them the leftovers.
I tried it again for breakfast this morning. I pulled it out of the fridge, only to find the water that I had submerged it in last night completely yellow. I'm sorry, but that shit looks like a big clump of white mold. I very niaevly thought I'd fry it this morning in little slices that I'd periodically flip over, like pancakes. This way, I thought, it would cook more and be less... gummy.
Ssssshyeah, right. I mostly managed to get little cakes onto the frying pan, where they quivered and bristled in anger at their mismanagement. They didn't slip. At the mere sight of a spatula, they collapsed into one globule in the middle of the pan, somewhat akin to The Blob.
I ate about two bites before finally admitting it: I. Hate. Tofu.
I don't stomach meat very well. I'm not talking about the moral implications - ecology and all that jazz - I mean, I really don't stomach it well. I can have white meat once in a blue moon, but for the most part, meat makes my stomach make some very weird noises.
I mentioned this to a friend, who suggested that I try tofu. Great alternative, she said! Very versatile, she said!
So, last night after Mark and I got back from Gabriola, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up some tofu.
It wasn't all that bad last night. I fried it up in some vegetable oil with seasoned salt and some 'southwestern blend' crap that Mark bought (he's all about 'blends', as if it's rocket science to find two spices that go together). By the end, it had the texture of undercooked scrambled eggs. Edible, sort of, but I was a bit freaked out that my normally ravenous cats wanted nothing to with it, and the rats looked at me like I was crazy when I offered them the leftovers.
I tried it again for breakfast this morning. I pulled it out of the fridge, only to find the water that I had submerged it in last night completely yellow. I'm sorry, but that shit looks like a big clump of white mold. I very niaevly thought I'd fry it this morning in little slices that I'd periodically flip over, like pancakes. This way, I thought, it would cook more and be less... gummy.
Ssssshyeah, right. I mostly managed to get little cakes onto the frying pan, where they quivered and bristled in anger at their mismanagement. They didn't slip. At the mere sight of a spatula, they collapsed into one globule in the middle of the pan, somewhat akin to The Blob.
I ate about two bites before finally admitting it: I. Hate. Tofu.