Wow.
I just met Andy for a coffee before his 7-10:30pm lesson. He's been teaching nonstop since 9 o'clock this morning, and I've been shut in at home trying to cross things off my lengthy 'To Do' list (see
yesterday's post for more info).
His fried brain + my lack of human interaction = weird, surreal experience
I talked a lot about how crazy it is that postal stamps are still a thing, and how I am surprised that counterfeit stamps aren't more common. He agreed and stared into the distance like a post-5150 Britney Spears.
It's hard to explain why the whole thing was so strange. Basically, it felt like we were both state-of-the-art Japanese robots, acting and speaking like humans but completely dead behind the eyes.
Have you seen
that CGI Audrey Hepburn advert for Galaxy chocolate? Our coffee meeting had that same, '
uncanny valley' vibe.
OK, now for the pea chat
This post was originally going to be a persuasive piece on the merits of peas and my desire to reintroduce them to modern, American cuisine (similar to
my defence of celery from yonks ago).
Although they're more common in British cuisine ('mushy peas' is a traditional dish here...come on Brits, you're not doing your poor culinary reputation any favours with that one), I feel like our generation doesn't have the same relationship with peas as our parents' and grandparents' generations. They're just not as popular as they used to be, and that's a shame. Peas are actually really tasty.
But that was what this post was going to be about. The more I thought about peas, the more I realised that I actually have a few different pea anecdotes worth sharing.
Anecdote 1: The Family Green Pea
As of getting married a few years ago, my sister Anna's last name is now Gorohoff. According to her and my brother-in-law, Gorohoff means 'green pea' in Russian. Isn't that fun?
Full disclosure, Google translate tells me 'green pea' in Russian is this: зеленый горошек. Needless to say, I wasn't able to fact check the validity of their claim.
Anecdote 2: "I eat my peas with honey"
When we were growing up, eating peas with honey was an important tradition in our household. It was a coming-of-age milestone that helped form us Kay kids into the upstanding citizens we are today.
Here's how it went down. Around the age of six, my Mom would teach us to recite a poem, squirt some honey onto the flat side of a knife, balance some peas on top, and then slurp up the peas in a single lick. It was precarious to say the least. This is the poem:
I eat my peas with honey
I've done it all my life
It makes the peas taste funny
But it keeps them on my knife
 |
| The things I do for this blog... |
Anecdote 3: Pass the peas, please
For a while, one of my Mom's favourite pranks was to serve peas and carrots for dinner that were—wait for it—not actually peas and carrots at all, but CANDY. Delicious pea-and-carrot-shaped candy! She had found the candy veggies at a novelty sweet shop in Seattle and knew instantly that it would be comedy gold.
As the youngest child, not yet in school and thus her default partner in crime, I helped ol' Nadinski arrange the candy peas and carrots realistically on each plate next to some real mashed potatoes and fish sticks. I rang the cowbell (yes, we used a cowbell to signal dinnertime), put on my best poker face and waited anxiously for my siblings to dig in.
OH the look on their faces when they ate their first bite of candy peas! If you had to narrow the abstract concept of 'humour' down to a single image, that would be it. You see, they thought they were going to be tasting real peas. They expected to eat the actual vegetable. But instead, they tasted a wonderful sugary treat! HAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA
AHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA
BAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAH OHAHAHA
HOOOHEE HAHAHA
HAHAHA
HaHA
Aha
Ha
haha
ha
Love,
Margaret
P.S. Yes, I know. Renée Zellweger. We're all horrified. I need a day to process it. Expect full coverage in tomorrow's post.
