Artichoke Mousse -- one item too many

I carry a heavy load; although, I like to think I embrace zen philosophy, in reality there are too many "things" I feel I need: warm socks, thin socks, warm pants, thin leggings, a book to read, another book to read in case I finish the first book, another book in case I don't like or get bored with one of the other books, a brown sweater, a black sweater, boots, tennis shoes and sandals. You name it, I feel I need it.

And, occasionally, a glass jar or two is lodged in my suitcase. Perhaps I am going to a desolate land without decent condiments (you know who you are) and I need to bring a spice or mustard or two to keep my spirits up. Perhaps, I discovered a new thing that I must bring home to take up yet more space in my groaning refridgerator door.

I was just down in California caring for an extremely cranky and doped up Big Mama Salsa post-shoulder surgery and I had to hie myself to the nice market near her house on several occasions. They have an okay condiment collection -- I discovered the Napa Valley line there, which I adore -- but they are a small space that serves a certain area of Oakland and for some reason, they'd prefer to have more "food." Whatever.

Anyway, on one of those missions of mercy, I strode down the condiment aisle to see what's what and saw a coy little jar winking at me from the shelf. It had little round sides and an intriguing condiment name: Artichoke Mousse. Mmmm...the tangy unique flavor of the artichoke enmeshed in a cream base. Very intriguing. And not only that, the little hussy was on sale!

I tucked the jar in my bag and headed home. And after Big Mama Salsa had thrown her plate of food at me for the umpteenth time and demanded more percocet, I opened the jar to see if it could sweep me from the house of recovery and into a place with rainbow ponies and no weak shoulders or slippery stairs or stubborn mothers who refuse to move their bedrooms down to the first floor.

Sadly, there were no rainbow ponies awaiting the bottom of the spoon. It was a very faint artichoke flavor with a bland cream sauce. I expected artichoke mousse to bring home some of her good friends: lemon, vinegar, sesame, SOMETHING. But it was sadly bland and I couldn't help but regret the Weight Watchers points wasted on this bland concoction.

Which is a travesty because condiments should NEVER make us feel we have unwillingly ingested fat. We should delight in the oil or the cream or the butter, not feel ashamed.

There was no space in my bag for the artichoke mousse. Nor is there space in this blog for the name of the artichoke mousse. It is a mystery best left unspoken.

Condiment Grrl

As It Says in the Good Book...

of something or other, as quoted to me by an old friend who's a Unitarian Minister, in response to my bacon salt posting:

"In my house we use salt as a gentle memory of bacon's greater promise..."

Now, here's a religion that I could BEE-LIEEVVE in. Maybe I already do...

A Treatise on Bacon Salt

As I sit here at my computer (obviously), listening to a variety of tunes on Random Play (Fleetwood Mac, then Green Day, then Shirley Temple. Awesome) after spending entirely too long on Facebook (or Crackbook), I am aware of the transient nature of technology and community and networking and music. We all flow apart, then sometimes find each other again, at different places in life, but still connecting on the same old jokes and shared memories. Then sometimes you start to build something new, some new strange connection that initially makes no sense, but in your new life, with your new hair and your new love of mushrooms and possible acceptance that everything Neil Diamond recorded wasn't total crap, it makes sense.

Sort of like Bacon Salt. "You have a friend request from Bacon Salt."

On first take, it makes no sense. Bacon is meat and salt is a condiment. Does not compute. They are two different substances. They serve two different purposes. But then you stop and think about the experience of eating bacon. Of course, there's the delicious sizzling smell, the grease squirt as you bite into a perfectly cooked piece, the feel of the slice in your hand (only heathens and lovers of zuchini bread cut their bacon with a knife and fork), and the flavor of the bacon sliding down your throat, the tingling salt and nitrates.

Stop! Salt?

Hmmm...maybe this does make sense. Bacon is very salty due to all the preservatives and smoking and things they do to it to turn it from pig into bacon (I just re-read "Little House in the Big Woods" and I know all about this process now.) So...what is bacon flavor? Is it the actual meat or is it the chemicals that go into the processing of the meat? What came first -- the meat or the chemicals (or condiments) that create the bacon?

Sometimes I like bacon bits on my salad. I always like salt. What if the two were combined? Would I get the succulent crackling sensation or would I get more of a chemical burning of my taste buds?

So, I put bacon salt on my salad. And I am sad to report that I found that I missed the meat. The chemical burning won out. It was just too...too...unnatural. The flavor was too removed from the actual flavor of the food. I like bacon flavor, but I also need the fat, the grease, the slice in my hand to fully enjoy the experience. I'll just have my salt separately.

I am ignoring the Friend Request from Bacon Salt.

What's this? A Friend Request from Baconnaise? Hmm...I shall have to explore