It started with Fried Green tomatoes. They were the first thing I ever cooked. True story and if I ever find any elusive green bastards to fry, I’ll tell it. That’s not a teaser. I hate teasers. I know they work to “keep people wanting more”, but I find them insulting. Back in the days when we could tell jokes, there was this one, “How do you keep a moron in suspense? I’ll tell you tomorrow.” That’s a teaser. Comedy teaches. So does cooking, particularly when relying on seasonal ingredients.

MrsDamnCook and I were out a couple weeks back, scouting for new locations to call our own. Our neighborhood is rapidly moving from what was to what is and the time to move will come sooner than our deaths. Annoying that. Moving is expensive, particularly at our age. And finding something we can both agree on is a bit of a nightmare. Not the point.

We stopped off at a local eatery that’s been in business longer than I can remember. They had fried green tomatoes on the menu and since the wife isn’t in the fried foods business these days, I was able to order up some. Note: If she were in the fried food business, we’d have ordered the fried zucchini and this concept may have never come around. Luckily, she’s still dieting, I’m eating what I want on weekends, and we all now live in this quantum possibility.

Let’s talk about perspectives for a second.

Perspectives are shaped by a number of conditions. Experience. Desire. Personal preferences. Say for example, you like fried vegetables where you can’t taste the vegetable, just the breading and the ever-present Ranch dressing served East of the Sabine. If that’s your perspective, then the tomatoes were “off the chain”. If, however, you eat for taste, sensation, pleasure with a hint of sense memory stimulation, these were shit and a waste of a perfectly good green tomato. Fried food should never be a breading and dipping sauce delivery device. For me, anyhow. What you do in your kitchen is not my business.

I resolved to make good fried green tomatoes because until I do, I’m going to have the desire for them hanging over my head and since I’m not dieting, bugger that. The trouble is, they are really not available. Not like they used to be. And there’s no substitute. It has to be un-ripened tomatoes, at least 3” in diameter, with Beefsteak being my preference.

When I worked in an office, everyone had tomatoes in various stages of ripeness because almost everyone grows tomatoes in the Spring and realized they really didn’t need that many damned tomatoes. I’m the “almost” in that sentence. I don’t grow them. I’ve tried in the past, but pests are a problem and MrsDamnCook won’t let me shoot them, leaving their bodies where they died as an example to all others who would trespass.

Long story short, I hit every poncy grocer in town, trying to locate some and even the ones who said they had them didn’t. As it turns out, the restaurants are buying them all up because they are now a “thing”. Fucking hipsters. Anyhoo.

I needed a context for which to serve my fried green tomatoes and I built a whole menu around it, focusing on Southern American flavors and foodways. I needed more content for YouTube and the website, specifically the website. Recipes. It’s a food blog, after all. I also needed a way to spend more time with my offspring, actually doing something that doesn’t involve us sitting around and consuming beer. I looked at the menu I put together with the tomatoes and got to thinking about Sunday dinners. When families would get together after church, consume a big meal and just “be”.

Uh, oh. Looks like them Duke boys got what you call “A Confluence of Mutual Needs”.

I get to cook. Full bore. No holding back because I can send the leftovers home with the Offspring and not have them hanging around my head for later consumption (I’m still doing 1300 calories per day during the week.) Offspring gets really decent, nutritious food (for a change) in exchange for his camera work. In theory, we drink less, at least during the filming. I get content for the web site. Everybody wins. Well, except for MrsDamnCook.

She has to smell everything I make without eating it. She can taste it, but that’s it. No actual consumption. I would think that’s worse.

There was a religious Muslim girl in my class at cooking school and our finals coincided with Ramadan. Nice lady. Husband looked alarmingly like Jim Croce, prompting many of us to think he faked his death, moved to Austin, converted to Islam, and married a cooking school student. Anyway, she had to go through finals tasting everything she made and spitting it out. She was cool about it, but as the two days ran on, you could see the toll it was taking on her. I felt so badly for her. I feel the same for my wife.

I think it will be OK, for the most part, as long as I stay away from foods and flavors she likes. Desserts are going to be rough for her, though. Oh. She also has to put up with the overall disruption of us and the filming. I think that will be the most brutal.

Thank you, Honey. I appreciate your tolerance.

So here is the plan. Roughly every two weeks, I will cook for real. The offspring will come over and film it. Recipes will be posted. Videos will be edited. Offspring will feed. We all go home happy. Except the wife. And probably the dog. It’ll be fine. All Norman Rockwell meets Gomez and Fester. Morticia will be busy seeking out the dark forces to join their hellish crusade.