The other day I mentioned how I hate to cook. This got me thinking of other issues I have with food. On those rare occasions when I must cook you’ll find me at our local Stop and Shop walking the meat case…back and forth… looking...pausing, mumbling to myself and then continuing on. After ten or fifteen minutes I’d be the woman standing at the meat aisle screaming, “When are they going to invent a new meat?”
Now wait, they have invented new fruits and vegetables haven’t they? Mixes of broccoli and cauliflower called broccoflower … mixes of plums and apricots called pluots.
Perhaps it’s time for a genetically produced cross between a pig and a chicken, call it:
The really, wicked, white meat.
Or a cow and a chicken and call it: Chiwow.
Or a fish and a pig, call it a: fig, (oh wait that name has been taken) but you get my point.
Come to think of it, wouldn’t these be the same people who cannot get the concept that the number of hotdogs in a package should be equal to the number of hotdog rolls in a package?
Never mind.
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