Eating Habits

Anywhere I ever lived, it was always, pro forma, assumed you would handle the bones and chew off any meat and gristle. Boiled crabs, fried chicken, pork chop bones. I can eat a formal meal and not offend the host, dine at the White House, be a charming guest; but when I cook for the rich and famous, I like to have at least one thing that has to be eaten by hand. Fish tacos. My signature baby-back ribs. I like to see people licking their fingers, it's a sign of good taste. I've been reading about table manners and the way they relate to being civilized. I'm a big fan of marrow bones, which don't lend themselves to civilized behavior: at some point in the meal someone will point to someone else with a shin bone, a dribble of fat on their chin, and question the parentage of the governor. B, for instance is a great dinner guest, because he enjoys the food and conversation, and walks that edge between formal and informal. Rain moves in again and I think that this is the wettest place I've ever lived. The Southwest and California are parched but I have flooding problems. Las Vegas is a joke, but I love the breakfast buffet. Unlimited bacon. And they've drawn down the water table so far, that when the dust settles, it'll be another salt lake. The history is that we fuck it up completely, human nature, exploit whatever there might be and be on our way. The lumber barons. The way lives are expended. The natural world doesn't offer redemption, but it can be amusing. I've watched squirrels for many hours this year because there are two nests with two squirrels each outside my window and their flicking tails attract my attention. I run them off when their games get too raucous. I should never interfere, which I know fundamentally, but the squirrels and the crows do occasionally get to me. Today, though, my close attention paid off. The sumac heads are all shattered and the poplars are barely breaking bud. One squirrel comes out, Spot (you have to differentiate, and this one has a black spot on his ass) and climbs a Red Maple. It takes me a while to realize he's eating buds that I can't see. When I go out later, after spending six hours writing a scant paragraph, I scrape off a few of these barely buds, and they yield a tender fibrous bite that is slightly sweet. Red Maple buds are better than Poplar. In fact, they're quite good. This could be the fennel pollen of the future. Seriously. Shade grown, organic Red Maple buds, we have a corner on the market.