Look what's on the menu at Denny's in Woodbridge, VA.
Seems to me you could also call it "heart attack between two pieces of toast."
My stepson Jonathan was leader of a punk rock band in the late 80s called "Food," a troupe that started and ended its musical career the same night at the 9:30 Club in DC. When asked why he and his fellow band members named their musical ensemble after essential body nutrients, he replied, "Well, everybody knows food."
Yep. I suppose he's right.
When one encounters such culinary concoctions in life, memories spin back to recipes of childhood. My mother, Dottie M., was not fond of cooking, but had definite ideas about "nutrition." These thoughts included a stern list of foodstuffs:
1) Wheat germ
2) Frozen peas and carrots
3) Scrambled eggs
To which her kinder responded:
1) Yuck, we all hated it...especially when that horrid brown mess was swirled into orange juice every a.m.
2) My brother Kevin hated Fridays, as that time period GUARANTEED there would be frozen peas and carrots in the oh-so-Catholic tuna noodle casserole that evening.
3) Scrambled eggs. Poor brother Fran was forced to eat them. He used enough ketchup to drown us all so he could slide those suckahs down his throat. What a display.
4) My younger sibling Kathy would cry when steak was served. Seems the quality of beef my parents could afford at the time was too tough for her fledgling teeth. So beef nights were always full of tears.
I know. They are full of iron and oh-so-good-for-you, but I am telling you, you can have mine, all swimming hot and warm in a bath of butter. If there is a hell, it is a beet.
One evening, around the time I was eight or so years of age, three aforementioned-prepared beets were placed upon my dinner plate. The verbal instruction was:
"Just eat one."
My father Frank J. got Irish. "You are not leaving this table until you eat that beet."
I was abandoned by the others. Dishes were done. The whole family went about their business. Just like that crazy clock on The Twilight Zone, the hours went by. I sat. The single beet placed on a plate in front of me grew tired. I watched it as its moisture became rivers of red juice.
About 10:45 p.m., my old man came into the kitchen.
"Why haven't you eaten that beet?" he demanded.
"Cause you don't have to eat 'em. You hate 'em."
He grabbed the beet from the plate, threw it in the trash and commanded, "Go to bed."
What was it Winston Churchill said? "We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields, and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender!"