So last night, before I went out to the Vid with
psychopeg,
zenmasterzeno,
tuanda13, et al., I stuck some pinto beans and ham hocks in the (terrifying, thirty-year-old, avocado green) crock pot that Mom gave me. Please note that the pork products are largely for seasoning. My mother looked at me like I was playing "Dueling Banjos" with my feet, in overalls with no shirt, when I
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When I make tofu jambalaya (this is more cooking for vegans), i mix the Jiffy with soy milk only (no eggs or egg substitute, but maybe a little oil) and in a well-fucking oiled skillet make cornbread flapjacks. which i then instruct people to put in the bottom of their bowls, under the jambalaya. because i am a control freak.
i have a love-hate relationship with ham. i feel weird about eating anything that two major world religions have deemed unclean, plus a lot of people die choking on ham sandwiches. however, this doesn't make it any less delicious.
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I don't think my ham feelings are any more complicated than my relationship with other meats. I love it-- about three times a year as a food, and all the damn time as a seasoning.
I had a friend in college who kept strict kosher, except for once a year, right before Yom Kippur, when she and her family would take a trip together to this roadside barn of meat and cheese somewhere in Ohio, and they would all partake of delicious bacon. See, that kind of guilt-bonding is what makes me think I missed out on something by not having been raised with some form of psychologically bizarre ideology.
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