You've Got to Fight for Your Right to PAR-TAKE!
Big Daddy Condiment -- the king of all sauce-makers, came for Sunday dinner tonight. I prepared a plate of my two recent Norman Bishop deliveries: Cranberry Mustard and G*D Mustard; the Sun-Dried Tomato Pesto I just blogged about; and a new addition to my condiment canon: Lemonaise by The Ojai Cook . I spooned a quantity of each onto a dish surrounded by sesame crackers. Big Daddy barely made it to the table before Baby Balsamic had vaulted into her booster seat and started licking up the cranberry mustard. She loves it. It's her ketchup.
As expected, Big Daddy enjoyed the G*D mustard tremendously and I tucked a jar into his bag as a thank you for giving me life and raising me and all that.
Big Daddy, buzzing on condiments and Rainer beer, began walking down memory lane with a tale of a brave fight for the rights of all to choose their own condiments.
My late Godfather was a dear friend of Big Daddy's from his crazy Venice Beach days. He was also a fiery fighter for truth and justice. He once went into a restaurant in L.A. with a Japanese friend of his (this was many years ago), where they were promptly completely ignored by the waitstaff, presumably because of the nationality of my Uncle Bob's friend. Uncle Bob went to a pay phone, called a Chinese restaurant that delivered, had food delivered to the restaurant, and he and his friend proceeded to eat their Chinese takeout in the restaurant that attempted to ignore them.
Uncle Bob and Big Daddy Condiment used to work construction jobs together. At one job, they went daily to a nearby hot dog stand. Horror of horrors, the proprietor mixed the mustard and relish together. You couldn't have one without the other. You couldn't choose your own condiment balance. It was, frankly, un-American. Uncle Bob ranted and railed daily until one day he went to get his hot dog and lo and behold, there was the mustard and the relish separated out in their own containers.
My Uncle Bob did not take injustice laying down. He stood up for what was right and true, even in the face of daunting odds, bigoted waiters, and unimaginative sidewalk vendors. I labor daily to instill that same spirit into Baby Balsamic, who's already ready to march on Olympia, so bitterly disappointed is she in the recent Washington Supreme Court decision on marriage rights. She was all set to be the flower girl in HER Godfather's marriage to his partner of almost fifteen years.
She's sleeping now, her brow furrowed as she unconsciously tries to work out how a two-year old can fight injustice. My brow is furrowed as I try to work out how I can fight injustice so she grows up into a better world. For inspiration, perhaps I will place next to her bed a bowl of relish, a bowl of mustard, and a fortune cookie that reads, "There is hope in the minds and spirits of all, if they will open their eyes and hearts."
Condiment Grrl
As expected, Big Daddy enjoyed the G*D mustard tremendously and I tucked a jar into his bag as a thank you for giving me life and raising me and all that.
Big Daddy, buzzing on condiments and Rainer beer, began walking down memory lane with a tale of a brave fight for the rights of all to choose their own condiments.
My late Godfather was a dear friend of Big Daddy's from his crazy Venice Beach days. He was also a fiery fighter for truth and justice. He once went into a restaurant in L.A. with a Japanese friend of his (this was many years ago), where they were promptly completely ignored by the waitstaff, presumably because of the nationality of my Uncle Bob's friend. Uncle Bob went to a pay phone, called a Chinese restaurant that delivered, had food delivered to the restaurant, and he and his friend proceeded to eat their Chinese takeout in the restaurant that attempted to ignore them.
Uncle Bob and Big Daddy Condiment used to work construction jobs together. At one job, they went daily to a nearby hot dog stand. Horror of horrors, the proprietor mixed the mustard and relish together. You couldn't have one without the other. You couldn't choose your own condiment balance. It was, frankly, un-American. Uncle Bob ranted and railed daily until one day he went to get his hot dog and lo and behold, there was the mustard and the relish separated out in their own containers.
My Uncle Bob did not take injustice laying down. He stood up for what was right and true, even in the face of daunting odds, bigoted waiters, and unimaginative sidewalk vendors. I labor daily to instill that same spirit into Baby Balsamic, who's already ready to march on Olympia, so bitterly disappointed is she in the recent Washington Supreme Court decision on marriage rights. She was all set to be the flower girl in HER Godfather's marriage to his partner of almost fifteen years.
She's sleeping now, her brow furrowed as she unconsciously tries to work out how a two-year old can fight injustice. My brow is furrowed as I try to work out how I can fight injustice so she grows up into a better world. For inspiration, perhaps I will place next to her bed a bowl of relish, a bowl of mustard, and a fortune cookie that reads, "There is hope in the minds and spirits of all, if they will open their eyes and hearts."
Condiment Grrl
posted by CondimentGrrl at 9:38 PM
2 Comments:
Am I missing something in this history? Might be creative writing.
Perhaps you need a little relish, free of the burden of mustard. :-)
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