I enjoy Robert St. John’s dining column in our newspaper. His recent list of the best meals he ever ate in fine restaurants around the world got me to thinking about the best meals I ever ate. But my list doesn’t look anything like St. John’s.
Unlike him, I’m not a foody. I’m not snobbish about food, and I’m not a discriminating eater. I eat to avoid hunger. I can scrape the mold off a piece of bread or cheese, round the bad spot out of a tomato and ignore the use-by date on the Spam. That food works just as well as if I waited two hours for some temperamental chef to prepare an exotic dish made out of stuff I can’t identify and stack it up on a plate so that I can’t see what’s on the bottom.
Though I don’t care what I eat, I do try to avoid consuming nasty things like livers and gizzards, which are processing organs for bodily poisons. I won’t eat oysters because I’m terrified of running into that little black and green thingy lurking at the center. I suspect it’s a kidney.
Also unlike St. John, I don’t like a big, greasy breakfast, and I’m not a fan of “breakfast joints.” I start every day with my two dogs in the sun room, where we eat our morning graham crackers and ginger snaps and I drink my coffee. My husband is in the kitchen making his own greasy breakfast.
Later I like a smoothie with fruit and protein powder. If I have them, I’ll drop in a couple of fresh spinach leaves or a chunk of broccoli. Their flavor is nicely masked by bananas and strawberries. My concoction counts as my cooking for the day too.
But like St. John, I can still recall the best meals I ever ate.
I first discovered hot dogs at a drive-in in Columbus, Miss., back when “drive-in” meant pull up on the gravel and blow your horn for the car-hop to come out and fasten a tray to your car window. My dad ordered me a hot dog. We didn’t have hot dogs at home. I ate the weiner, the most interesting part, and threw out the bun. I was in love!
That experience introduced me to the whole marvelous world of fast-food at a time when there were no McDonalds or Wendys. Our choices then were a drive-in, the counter at a cafe or a Mom and Pop grocery where you went in, pulled a Grapette out of a box full of ice water, popped the top with an opener screwed to the wood counter, poured half a bag of salty Planters peanuts into your “drink” and swallowed.
I remember the first taquito I ever ate at a little taco stand on a street in Pasadena, California. Tortillas were wrapped around shredded beef to make little sticks that were fried and served with Green Goddess dressing. Nothing healthy, but I thought I’d died and gone to heaven in those days when Green Goddess was the only green thing I would touch.
Later, for one of my birthdays, I asked my husband to take me to an ice cream shop that used to be located near North Park Mall in Jackson. They served Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Toffee Crunch ice cream, my all-time favorite food. That day they didn’t have my flavor in the big containers so instead of a cone, they served me a whole pint of my favorite treat with a spoon. It took me awhile, but I proved that any dedicated human being can eat a pint of ice cream without stopping. It got less delicious as I crunched closer to the far away bottom, but the top half of that pint was memorable... As was the digestive aftermath.
The best “regular” meal I ever ate was at the Beau Rivage in Biloxi. No, we weren’t there to gamble, we had gone to see the show “Alegria.” Normally, I don’t order beef, but we were late and opted for the Special to save time. The prime rib, potatoes and vegetables (which I had learned to eat by that time) were perfect. I think of them every time I pass the Beau.
But the hands down Best Meal I ever ate was in Italy. I know everybody says that, but my experience was a little different.
We had been in Italy for about eight days, where we had eaten pasta with marinara sauce at every single meal, even breakfast. I was sick of that and of the omnipresent antipasto, which is basically just what we call cold lunchmeat and smelly cheese. The night before in Florence, I had been served a steak too rare to eat--Italians don’t comprehend “medium well.”
I’m not a fan of a piece of meat that looks like I could restore it to a live, productive animal with a little CPR and a prayer.
But we were in Venice, and been walking for hours when I spotted, glimmering in the distance, a Burger King! I gathered up my hungry friends, and we rushed the place. Whoppers and fries with a Coke! Manna from heaven!
I don’t know if I’ll ever get to return to Europe, but you can bet if I do I’ll have an app on my phone by then that takes me straight to the nearest American fast-food joint that serves recognizable food without organ meats or blood oozing out.
Then I might write about Europe’s fastfood joints so that Robert St. John can follow my path to the best meals ever.
