The Food That Saved Me From Eternal Despair

Alright it's been a bit since I posted about food. And let's be honest, I really really love food. In fact, after I finished my last post, I realized that "eating" could also be something I got paid to do. (I also considered adding "drinking" to that list, but really, "drinking" professionally REALLY means you're A) a deadbeat B) an alkie or C) a writer, and while I had no problems identifying as the latter two, I didn't want to confuse the issue or the public by possibly being grouped with the former) I digress...

H'omigod. I had found the perfect job for me- Food Critic. How amazing would that be? I could eat food at restaurants (awesome), write about it (also awesome) and most importantly GET PAID (holy crap, awesome FTW!). For about 37 seconds I was pretty much not only going to have a job, but I was also going to award myself the Most Geniusest Genius EVER medal and about at least 50 Gold Stars.

And then, disaster struck.

Reality, that solidly built she-hulk in a faded floral print dress with runs in her hose, laid her massive clammy hand on my shoulder. Her large, fishlike lips moved. At first I thought she was hyperventilating, and then I thought the world was in slo-mo and I was dreaming and then I realized she was laughing at me.

And like 2-pack-a-day smoker, her voice crawled out of that mouth and into my head.

"Food critic? That's a laugh. There's only like seven of them alive and five of them live in the UK and Europe. Think again, bub."

Sigh.

I knew she was right. My shoulders slumped in despair as she lugged her way Lurch-ily into the background of my mind. Food critic jobs were hard to come by, and there might actually even be training or stuff you have to do before you can be one (I thought about researching this, but then decided it was better not to hurt my heart further). So, sadly I decided not to amend the list to include "eating." I didn't know what I was going to do with myself. Ever. Why was I even here? What was the point of living anymore?!?!

(This is pretty much my face at that moment.)







In my state of deep melancholy, I walked into the kitchen to get something to munch on. You see, there are people out there in the world who, when faced with stress or sadness, do not eat. They waste away, often tragically, to skin and bones. Sometimes, movies get made about them. Sometimes, they make the movies themselves. In any event, depression = thin.

I am not one of those sorts of people.

Faced with bad news, I go immediately to the loving support and comfort that only a drive thru window can provide. Carbs are my solace. Cheese is my joy. Despair, I banish thee in the name of all things good and true and sugary!

So, faced with reality's awful rebuke of my Genius idea (and aside from not even getting to be a Food Critic, I wasn't going to get the Geniusest Genius Award OR the Gold Stars- ugh, my life was clearly an #epicfail), the kitchen was the only logical place to go. I opened up the cabinet (oh dubbs, if you've been following since the beginning, one of my slothy roomies finally moved out- HUZZAH!) and looked bleakly at my options. 3 cans of beans, 2 cans of tuna, assorted spices and herbs, and a cup of applesauce. F.M.L. I was beginning to wonder how I could pull the blades out of my Mach 3 shaving razor and end it all.

I turned to the refrigerator. It was similarly bleak- pickles, cottage cheese, carrots, bologna. And then, just when I thought all hope was lost, I spied something small and red towards the back of the bottom shelf. It was a plastic lid on a round container. I reached in. Could it be? Was it? It WAS.



Hummus.

Hummus from above (or in this case, the back of the fridge).

Hummus, with it's smooth creamy texture and its delicious chickpea and garlicy taste. Easily a ranking food on the Greatest Foods of All Time Ever list, this treat from the gods (specifically the ones hanging out around the Mediterranean) suddenly made my day much brighter. I grasped the hummus and the carrots, tried to hold back my tears of joy, and dashed back into my bedroom. And even though I STILL didn't know what I was doing for a job, I had hummus.

My plate ranneth over.

Proof of God (and the Virtues of Mexican Food)

Sometimes, as I go through my daily hum-drum life, I find myself pondering the deeper, yearning questions of existence. What am I here for? What is the nature of happiness? Will Lauryn Hill ever put out another album? Deep, unsettling questions.

Usually, these questions go unanswered. Recently, however, I was able to answer one. A big one. My question was:

Is there a God?

And the answer is: yes.


How did I come to this conclusion?

Sometimes objective truths are interconnected. If you find the answer to one question, it leads you to the answer of another question. Such is the case with the definite existence of God. By deductive reasoning, I figured it out. The proof that God exists is contained in the answer to another of life's terribly baffling questions:

What is the best ethnic cuisine?

And the answer is: Mexican.


It's a simple equation- The unbelievable amazingness of Mexican food proves that yes, YES, there is a God. AND, furthermore, not only does God exist, BUT s/he is a kind and benevolent God who loves us.

I know there are those out there who would claim that man created Mexican food and what if you're lactose intolerant and what about the whole Darwin/evolution thing, but the Truth is, Mexican food was given to us directly by God. The end, no questions. The argument then could be made that ALL ethnic cuisines could have been given to us directly by God, and I'll stand for that, but then if we're going to argue Proof here, then we should use Mexican, because it presents the strongest case. Here's why:

1) CHEESE.

omg omg omg. Cheese alone may prove God's existence. And in Mexican food, it's pretty much on everything (and those things it's not on, well, maybe it's about time we put some on them- cheesy rice? yes. cheesy tacos al carbon? hello, it's now like a fajita! cheesy ceviche? well, maybe not, but serve it with chips and put the cheese on the chips FTW!). Plus, it comes in endless varieties- queso, Monterrey jack, cheddar, American (at the cheap places, but still cheese is cheese, and God is God and cheese is directly related to God)- you can probably even get cheese in your dessert (I think the Italians might have done this better, but I'm sure SOMEBODY in Mexico does it).

I know some people are gonna whine and complain about "authentic" and whatnot, but sometimes it's better to be BETTER than authentic- and cheese clearly makes this possible. Also, the question of lactose intolerance, I say this: sometimes sacrifice is necessary to understand the Truth. An upset stomach is a small price to pay for the awesomeness of Mexican food/God.

2) Ambiance

Mexican restaurants SHOULD be brightly colored and well decorated (I had a little trouble with this, because I've been in some pretty bland Mexican joints and still felt God's presence, BUT I think, as a whole, the cuisine does a pretty good job at keep with a theme). You walk in and feel happy immediately because of all the colors and the smell of delicious fajita meat and onions grilling. You see all of the artwork of deserts or cacti on the walls. You hear and feel the sizzle of the fajita plates as they are zipped dangerously close to your ears as you are seated. Clearly, you are in heaven. And who dwells in heaven? Answer: God.

3) All Star Menu

There are dishes that have, in our multicultural world, crossed boundaries. To my knowledge, Mexican food has the highest profile when it comes to international adaptations. Tacos, Nachos and Quesadillas have achieved a level of fame only matched by the Egg Roll and Pizza. They are veritable missionaries of Mexican spreading the Good News. Can you think of a french dish as socially pervasive as a taco? No. How about a Thai dish? Ethiopian? I'm drawing blanks. And even some of the lesser known Mexican dishes are still pretty ridiculously popular- a/k/a enchiladas, fajitas, taquito's, and

4) MARGARITAS!!!

OK, seriously, like cheese, Margaritas are a winning argument for God in their own right. Back when s/he was making the world and Mexican food, God said "I want something to drink that is alcoholic, tart with a bit of sweetness. Bonus points if I can make it frozen" and lo, the Margarita came to be. And God tasted it, and knew that it was good. (I think they left this off the official 'creating the world' story because they didn't want the other cuisines to feel bad that they were not as awesome as Mexican) They're a little sweet, a little tart, a little limey, a little orangey, and a whole lot delicious. It makes sense that God has a hand in bringing this sublime concoction to be.


I still don't know what I'm on earth for. I can't tell you why some people are allergic to peanuts. I'll still never fully remember the Pythagorean theorem. But one thing I can say for sure is that, from the evidence presented here, a loving God who cares very much for us must be out there. If not, we would be a planet alone in the universe, carelessly spinning, futile, dark, and tacoless.