Driving me bananas

Bananas.

The dreaded obstacle that doubles as a food.

While bananas are nutritious, great mixers in smoothies, and supposedly full of potassium, they also moonlight as a dangerous and playful gag. One of these seemingly harmless peels usually lay in wait around a corner, past an item box, or just after a jump. Unsuspecting, you drive over it and slide from first to fifth or sixth place. 

On the other hand, the fruit fits nicely between two slices of bread, slathered with peanut butter.

Odd how video games can skew our ideas about food.

Inspections

Murphy's Law—whatever can go wrong will. 

It's a truism of the postmodern American age, the cynical American mindset. 

Of course I'm always dining at a favorite location when my mom rings my phone. Here's another truism: nobody ever calls with good news while you're eating. Enjoying that steak? Your dog died. Fancy restaurant first date? You're a father. Forgive me for having my cake and eating it, too.


Every Monday I get a phone call. Usually around 1pm, the time I am having lunch. Without looking I answer, hey Mom, and I lay down my fork or set down whatever finger food is in my hands. No greeting back. Just a list being read to me. 


Did you hear CiCi's got a 70 on their inspection? 

I choke back greasy pepperoni and stale crust and try not to think about rat droppings beneath the layers of cheese. 

Panera scored a 72 last week; don't you eat there on your lunch breaks at work?


Not anymore. From the table in the break room I arch my wrists and toss a bowl of potato soup a good five feet straight into the trash. 


Sometimes we're better off not knowing certain things. There are levels of expectations we should have about our food—make it clean and sanitary. Stop dear newspaper editors, please stop printing these every week. If you simply must, sell it sealed so actual work has to be done to find out. 


Because honestly.


I can't eat anywhere anymore.

Birthday Cake

After polishing off the last piece of a family member's birthday cake, I found myself pondering something. Where does the tradition of a birthday cake come from? Why do we feel so entitled to have one?

This tradition dates back to the Roman empire. Flat cakes adorned with nuts and honey for a sweet flavour were served on birthdays. More commonly, cakes were served at Greek weddings. For many years, the words for bread and cake were interchangeable, the only difference being that a cake is sweetened and bread is not.

Because cake is a treat, oftentimes it was available only to the wealthy. Over time it became more accessible to those of lower income, and eventually an almost guaranteed item presented on your birthday.