pop goes the racism: another american classic

So, in my traveling wilderness nostalgia for that which never was in my life i really wanted to obtain a copy of Little House on the Prairie.

I have vivid memories of maple candy formed on new snow and was intrigued and delighted when i read about how the kids in the story fried and ate the pigs's tale - it seemed appropriately rugged reading for this frontier adventure i've assigned myself.

Lo and behold while trolling the tiny Salvation Army in town, there were three Laura Ingalls Wilder books. Striving for modesty in my possessions (i know - how new of me right?) I only purchased one: Little House in the Big Woods.

Hiding from the rain in the laaaame coffee shop (that hearkens to smith/northampton/lesbianism/low caliber service in exchange for metro-cosmpoolitanbuppieness) i dove into the book.

Spring took me through flowering prairies. Autumn was pig fattening, hunting, and meat smoking. And winter was boring. So boring that Pa had to play the fiddle to entertain the youngins. His ditty (to the tune of pop goes the weasel):

"There was an old darkey

And his name was Uncle Ned,

And he died long ago, long ago.

There was no wool on the top of his head,

In the place where the wool ought to grow.

"His fingers were as long,

As the cane in the brake,

His eyes they could hardly see,

And he had no teeth for the eat the hoe-cake,

So he had to let the hoe-cake be.

"So hang up the shovel and the hoe,

Lay down the fiddle and the bow,

There's no more work for old Uncle Ned,

For he's gone where the good darkeys go."

Lucky uncle ned.

Grieving with the familiar sting of yet another childhood classic gone the was of le american bigotry we slug our way through the drizzle past spawning salmon to the movie theatre.

I can call it the movie theatre because it's the only one. I thought my pain might be assuaged by watching the life, loves, and times of two white chicks. That's right - I finally got to see Julie Julia.

It was snugglie like a cup of hersheys cocoa homemade hot chocolate (follow the recipe folks - it's foolproof). Or perhaps satisfying as the snuggies we both received courtesy of our sister from another mister stuck in oakland. Either way, the movie was good. 96% good!

There's been a lot of food in my life, and in response to the Frenchie on Top Chef claiming french as the supreme cuisine, K and I were posing the question: if you had to eat just one comida for your entire life what would it be?

I said west indian. K said that was cheating because it is the result of colonial fusion. I said it's fair game. But this raises a good question: What is your favorite pre-colonial cuisine?