The Spice Of Life

There was a kind of spice rack in the Canadian Tire flyer (hey!) this week, actually more like a carousel, and it showed 2 versions, one with 12 spice capacity, one with 16 spice capacity. 16 isn’t enough. I know. What I needed to work out was whether 2 12 bottle units would cover me. That’s 24 herbs and spices maximum. Colonel Sanders, eat your heart out. Thing is, though, I don’t want to get stuck with spice number 25, and no place to put it. What would I do then.

So I took inventory. 21 spices, or quasi-spices. This is too hard for me. I need backup. So I called my friend, the spiciest person I know. Hey spicy person I said, I need to know whether I’m covered for all the major spice groups. What do you have, asked my astute friend, cutting to the core of the issue.

So here’s the inventory, in no particular order:

· Salt
· Pepper
· Garlic powder
· Onion powder
· Chili powder
· Cumin
· Thyme
· Bay leaves
· Basil
· Oregano
· Parsley
· Cayenne pepper
· Bacon bits
· Cinnamon
· Paprika
· Barbecue spice
· Montreal chicken spice
· French fry salt
· French fry seasoning
· Cajun spice
· Venezuelan Beaver Spice

I bought french-fry salt because I like to put it on my frozen vegetables. I actually cook the vegetables first. So when I put the ff salt on, they’re not actually frozen. But the first time I meant to use it it was gone. Nowhere to be found. I called sis, who’d helped me put the groceries away. (when I say “help” I mean she did it all herself). She didn’t remember the French fry salt. All she could remember was how sad everyone was discovering the following day that no one had put away the drumsticks, which were still in a bag dripping themselves all over the kitchen floor. Maybe we could salvage them she said. No she didn’t. She just ate them then and there.

Seeing as how the French fry salt had gone AWOL, I picked up a small bottle of French fry seasoning, which may or may not be the same thing. Then I found the missing bottle, which had found itself together with a few other odds and ends at the bottom of a pile of empty cartons, all of which were in the process of being discarded, one by one. Hence, redundant seasoning.

What about sweet spices, says my friend. Like nutmeg or ginger. I don’t intend to bake anytime soon. What about sage or rosemary. Who are you, I said, Paul Simon? What do I need rosemary for? Well, if you’re stuffing anything it’s key. Ok, I said, no stuffing. Well, she says, sounds like you have everything you need, humouring me, realizing that if I haven’t got it, I’ll make sure not to need it, so this whole inquiry is pointless. The tail wags the dog.

I didn’t buy it in the end, the spice rack. Sold out. But beyond that, I came to realize that it came with spice bottles full of spices, one of which was rosemary. I don’t want their spices, I have my own. And what do I need rosemary for? Who am I, Paul Simon?

Not Pastry, Just.... Ok, Pastry

Ok, I like cinnamon buns. They’re not buns really. They are “danishes.” La de da. I’m not entirely sure what the difference is. Perhaps danishes are fancier; perhaps they cost more. I think, though, that if you’d walk into a bakery and request a cinnamon bun, they may look at you funny.
I know what a croissant is, that’s easy. You can tell by the shape. I don’t mind croissants, especially if someone else bought it; if I buy, though, I prefer a Danish, especially one with icing. I don’t think the icing makes it taste any different, but I think it makes me feel different. I makes me feel like I get icing.

So cinnamon danishes. And pecan buns. I really like pecan buns. But I don’t think that they are danishes at all. They are just buns. And they have pecans and they have artificial cherries. That’s really decadent I think, artificial cherries, and I wouldn’t go eating them out of the jar or anything. But on pecan buns somehow they work.

Now let’s talk about the black and white. I use the singular because the plural makes me uncomfortable. A black and white is just a cookie that’s half black and half white, no magic. Very rich they are. There are big ones and small ones, and I can’t eat a big one in one sitting. Now remember, I have no trouble ingesting a pecan bun. But a black and white...

Ordering them is awkward. People generally say “black and whites;” “I’ll have a dozen black and whites”, but somehow it doesn’t sound right to me, like you’re getting many whites, but only one black. I thought of blacks and white, (you know? Like brothers-in-law) but that doesn’t work at all. Blacks and whites might be okay; I’ve tried that: “I’ll have 6 blacks and whites” but then they look at me funny. So I just buy them where you don’t have to ask for them, or in extremis I’ll say give me 7 of those black and white cookies, acting like an out-of-towner who’s never seen them before. (I was introduced to, ahem, blacks and whites after living here about a month, I’ve never seen them anywhere else). One time I asked for 6 whites and 3 blacks, but they threw me out of the bakery.

That’s it, really, for pastry, except for those apple things. I get them sometimes for breakfast at the hospital. I’m not sick, I just go there for breakfast because I like the pastry. The apple things, they have this spiral shape, and the apple goo in the middle, and I like to eat around the spiral, but then I’m left with just the goo, which is tasty but not all that easy to hold, and so I have to eat across the spiral, but we all have to make sacrifices…