Eating in the Car: Food always tastes better on wheels
By Janis Hirsch
Alice Waters says food tastes best when it’s fresh from the garden. Julia Child thought it wasn’t worth eating unless you used every pot in the house and cooked it in duck fat. Or what about those crazies who think that unless you’ve personally wrestled your dinner to the ground, skinned it alive and eaten a few of its organs tartare, it’s not worth eating?
They’re all wrong.
The very best way to maximize food enjoyment is to eating in the car, preferably on your way out of the grocery store parking lot. It doesn’t matter what it is, it’ll taste a thousand times better if you’re shoveling it in while dodging runaway carts in the parking lot. I’m always amazed when I watch a man take his groceries out of his shopping cart and put them in his trunk where they can’t be reached. How were these people raised?
I’m not saying I put my grocery bags on the passenger seat next to me. Where’s the sport in that? I – and all women, let’s face it – put the grocery bags on the back seat because I’m not hungry, I can absolutely wait the ten minutes until I’m home and besides, I just had the car washed. So I put my groceries on the back seat because God forbid I stop short, I can catch the eggs before they break. Even when I haven’t bought eggs. But the simple act of putting my Prius in reverse changes everything.
Reverse = must eat now.
I realize some women may rifle through their bags as they load them into the car so that the most snack-a-licious of them is in front and on top. That to me is a rookie move. I like to wait until I’m backing out, then I twist my right arm to such an unnatural angle that if a guy found himself in this position, he’d hack his arm off with a pocketknife.
Once I’ve got my Cirque du Soleil arm behind me, I flail around in the various bags trying to feel my way to heaven. And because my arm is so twisted, I begin to lose feeling in my fingers making it really hard to distinguish between a box of low-salt saltines and a plastic take-out container of cold sesame noodles.
When I land on the low-salt saltines – which should probably be called “tines” don’t you think? — the challenge then is opening them while trying to get across three lanes of traffic into the left turn lane. And forget the “easy open” tabs; they require my reading glasses and, oh yeah, a PhD in Applied Engineering. Which is why I pretty much rip the box (any box) down the middle like a bear eating a lobster.
I once saw a woman leaving the supermarket while attacking a can of tuna with a Bic pen. A tip o’ the hat, my friend.