In this era of uncertainty, we are faced
with challenges that even the most cynical of us could not have possibly
predicted. We have changed our behavior regarding everyday activities from
shopping to carpooling and from doctor’s appointments to visiting with friends.
Our expectations regarding simchas and even small family gatherings have been
revamped to the point where questions like, “Was it a Covid wedding” or “Did
you zoom with your family?” are not uncommon. Regardless of how well we have
adapted, though, there are still things that take us by surprise. We are so
hypo-focused on anything that has to do with Covid that we don’t even realize that
other aspects of our life, which we took for granted, are being upended without
warning. My most recent collision with an ever-changing reality occurred while
looking through one of our venerable international frum magazines during Chanukah.
As I was paging
through, I noticed that the pictures of doughnuts (feel free to think “donuts”
if you are the progressive type) didn’t look like doughnuts. Now, I’m all for
diversity when it comes to baked goods, but somehow, I just couldn’t wrap my
head around these extravagances: lavishly embellished doughnuts perched one on
top of the other like a medieval tower. To me, they resembled something you
might see at the Buckingham palace, not on my dining room table. I’m not saying
I wouldn’t have tried one if it had been available. I’m just saying that, since
I’m the kind of person who can eat the same thing every night for a week, I was
a little thrown off my game.
Everything would
have been fine if my daughter hadn’t suddenly exclaimed, “Wow, look at this ad.
I bet half of the readers won’t even understand this.” Now she had my
attention. I mean, who expects to have to understand a doughnut ad? I looked at
the ad and saw a doughnut. Then my daughter pointed out a two-inch horizontal
oval that had three identical pictures of flames sitting next to each other.
While I sat there with a blank stare on my face, my daughter explained that
those three little flames, which are now called emojis instead of pictures, are
equivalent to someone who is a lot younger than I am saying, “These are the
greatest.” Now I was really thrown off my game. Forget about doughnuts from
days of old. Apparently, I don’t even understand how to say “Yum” anymore.
Fortunately, our
obsession with doughnuts only comes once a year. Unfortunately, the doughnut is
not the only food that has shaken my sense of stability during these hard
times. The culprit, which seems to be cropping up in the most unlikely of
places and about which I am now going to expound upon, is cauliflower.
When I was growing
up we often bought fresh cauliflower, which my kids have probably never seen.
Keeping up with the times and away from the bugs, I transitioned to frozen
cauliflower. Normally, this would not have been even the slightest bit
traumatic, if it hadn’t been for that fateful Pesach when we placed our order
with the teacher/rebbi program that is offered in our community. For most
people who participate in this program, it is an opportunity to save money. For
me, not so much. The reason is that I always make a mistake. One year, I
ordered over 100 oranges. I thought I ordered 10 oranges, but I found I had
ordered 10 bags. Another year, I was inundated with brisket – don’t ask. My
final year, I decided we should try some cauliflower, so I ordered four bags.
Apparently, I ordered four packages of six bags each. (You do the math; it’s
still too painful for me). Let’s just say, that many of my neighbors enjoyed
cauliflower that year.
My experience left
me with PTCD (post-traumatic cauliflower disorder), which kept me away from
cauliflower for a few years. It is only recently that I have ventured into the
frozen cauliflower section of my supermarket only to find that a metamorphosis
has take place. My first shock was seeing that cauliflower now passes as a
substitute for pizza crust. That’s like saying, “You know those doughnuts in
the second paragraph that you like so much? This year we are making them out of
cauliflower. Don’t worry, with all the toppings they taste the same. Really.”
As I rushed out of
the aisle hoping that this was all a bad dream, I wandered into the organic
food section only to be confronted with cauliflower pretzel sticks. This was
surprising, but not nearly as appalling as what I had previously witnessed. I
decided that if I wanted to keep up with the times, maybe I should try them. I
brought them home and opened the bag. After all, this was not the type of food
you bring into your car so you can sneak in a few before your kids find them.
Anyway, guess what they tasted like? Salty cauliflower. I’m not sure why I was
surprised, but I was. I kind of figured they would have at least tried to
disguise the cauliflower as, say, pizza so you don’t feel like you’re depriving
yourself. Needless to say, the bag is still sitting in my pantry.
The final
cauliflower coup de grace that I encountered was when someone mentioned to me
that they use riced cauliflower. My response was that rice and cauliflower
taste good together. She quickly corrected me and said with a little more
emphasis, riced cauliflower. Yet another blank stare spread across my
face. At the time, I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I did know
that it’s important to think carefully when combining two food concepts that
don’t naturally go together. I am referring to a food that has seeped slowly
into our national psyche and has found its way into many households: the rice
cake.
The first issue I
have is pairing the word cake with the word rice. I understand it
has to be differentiated from crackers and from bread, but cake? Unfortunately,
there is nothing I can do about it, so let’s move on. Since then I have also
come to terms with the fact that eating a rice cake is like eating a
sophisticated piece of cardboard. (Don’t ask me how I know this.) The more
pressing issue is the packaging. You would think that, with all the
technological advancements, which include but are not limited to sending people
to outer space, cars that don’t need drivers, and office meetings that can take
place while you’re still in your pajamas, someone would invent a rice cake
package that can be easily opened.
Now, I know some of
you are thinking, “I buy rice cakes that are easy to open.” You are probably
referring to the kind that have the little red pull tab that winds around the
top and comes off in a nice easy-to-peel strip along with the top of the
cylindrical packaging. Unfortunately, the top two rice cakes that are nestled
in the top of the packaging also come off and promptly fall on the floor. If
you are thinking that, after dropping them the first time, you would have
learned your lesson, you are wrong. Not only does enough time elapse for you to
forget about this mechanical defect before opening a new package but there is
no assurance that the same person will be opening the next package. Needless to
say, the learning curve drops on the floor many a time before sacrificial rice
cakes are no longer offered from each package.
For those of us
who will never master this method, there is another type of package, though not
necessarily a preferred one. I’m sure all you rice cake eaters are familiar
with the brand that comes sealed in a clear bag, which is then placed inside a plastic
bag. The plastic bag is closed with a small piece of plastic, making it
reusable. To this, I say, “good job.” However, the inside package leaves a lot
to be desired. Similar to bag of cereal that is sealed inside the box, you
practically have to wrestle the packaging open. Many, and if we’re going to be
honest here, all of us, have at one time or another had cereal or rice cakes
flying across the kitchen due to a lack of delicacy when opening the package.
Again, can’t we put a little technology to work here? But I guess until the
research dollars are allocated to solve this dilemma, we’ll all just have to
adjust to the curve balls that life has been handing us this year. After all,
that’s how the rice cake crumbles.
