I am not what you would call a "foodie."
"Simpleton" may be a better choice. "Vanilla" is certainly an apt description, in more ways than one.
I am a notoriously picky eater and am one who doesn't like to stray from the box. I like the box. It's comfortable in there.
My roommate often likes to pick what I'm going to have at a restaurant because I am rather predictable. I'm also pretty plain when it comes to food. For instance, I love vanilla ice cream... but just vanilla. No chocolate syrup or other toppings. Just vanilla. I get a cup of plain vanilla at Cold Stone, and they look at me like I'm an escaped mental patient.
The reason I bring this up is because last night my roommate and his girlfriend were watching the Food Network. They caught the tail end of Worst Cooks in America and then the subsequent episode of Iron Chef America. I had never seen either show before, so it was an interesting experience.
Both my roommate and his better half are more accepting and daring when it comes to food. They both cook, and they like to try new things. Basically, they're the Anti-me.
My roommate proposed this idea: for his birthday, he wants his girlfriend and the wife of one of our friends to engage in an Iron Chef-style competition. He, along with our friend, would be the judges as well as one other fellow.
Me.
See, this is the flaw in his plan, one his girlfriend so gleefully pointed out. I'd be the worst judge ever, mainly because I wouldn't eat anything they would actually make.
High-end food is lost on me. My dinner that night was a burrito. I cooked some ground turkey that was roughly two weeks past the "use or freeze by" date--side note, apparently turkey that has been refrigerated that long is still good because I'm not dead yet--put it in a store-bought tortilla, added some lettuce and Kraft shredded cheese, and topped it off with Cholula. That's about as gourmet as I get.
In Iron Chef America, the competing chefs are given one ingredient that they must use in every course. If I were the judge for this competition, that ingredient would have to be vanilla because I don't have anything with my ice cream for dessert. My roommate's girlfriend just shook her head in shame for me when she realized that.
As the show went on, we starting talking about what it would be like if I were on Iron Chef. It would be hilariously disastrous.
For one, the chefs on that show get 60 minutes to create like five courses. They're racing the clock at the end, scrambling madly to get everything ready before the clock strikes double-zeroes.
Me? I wouldn't need the entire hour, not by a long shot. I'd be done in like 15 minutes and would just spend the next 45 sitting in a chair... probably eating what I just made.
The chefs make these creative, exotic dishes--okay maybe they're not all THAT exotic, but you're talking to a guy who goes to Cold Stone and just gets vanilla. They're exotic to me. Last night, they had to use sausage as their main ingredient. You know what I would have made? A sausage pizza and sausage sandwiches.
Another reason why I would fail spectacularly at this show: plating. It's one of the three categories chefs are judged upon. I have no idea what it means.
I said, "What in the world is plating?" and my roommate and his girlfriend looked at me with an odd mix of pity and bewilderment strewn across their faces. They explained that it was how the food was arranged on the plate to make it look aesthetically pleasing. I asked why that was important and received shaken heads and "Oh dear lord." I bring out religion in people, apparently.
See, that doesn't matter to me because I segregate my food. I'm a food racist, as a girl I once knew so eloquently put it. She called me that because of my love of vanilla and lack of fondness for chocolate. When I admitted that I like the filling of Oreos but am not a fan of the chocolate cookie part, that's when she labeled me a food racist.
The point is that I don't mix my food. I generally eat things one at a time. I'll have all the vegetables before going on to the spaghetti. If I have mac'n'cheese with a hamburger, I'm finishing the burger before digging into the mac'n'cheese.
I'm weird, I know.
Anyway, just the thought of what I would do if I were ever on Iron Chef should be horrifying to many of you who like fine food and, well, culture, but at any rate, it would be hilarious... and probably sad. Hilariously sad.
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