Random Thread Part III: Sardines, Mediterranean Diets, and Whatever Other Stuff Happens

The Random Thread Part 2 is closed for comments, so I’ll stick this here. It's also in the thread about Mayweather's purse for the fight, which I know is distracting and annoying, so sue me. I hate when Mayweather interrupts my train of thought. I'd also like to blame Counterpunch for starting this whole thing.

It’s almost 1 o’clock in the morning right now where I am, and I just ate a can ("tin" to you Brits) of ’Mediterranean Style" sardines.

See, this is symptomatic of the identity crisis I’ve dealt with all my life: my father was a Swede, and my mother was an Italian. My father loved fish, and especially sardines, and that’s probably why he lived to be 92. My mother hated fish in any and all form, and that’s probably why she kicked two weeks short of 90, the slouch.

My Dad used to have sardines for lunch almost every weekend, because during the work week, he would have to talk to business clients afterwards, with fish breath. Every Saturday, which is a day all over the civilized world when people don’t work (this is not true for my wife, who is Chinese, and works everyday from 6 am until at least midnight, and views the Western habit of taking days off as a sign of the decline of the decadent West), my Dad would open up a loaf of bread (white bread, because back then, in the 1950s and ‘60s, we didn’t know what wheat was, or that bread actually came from wheat of some sort), and would slap on a whole can ("tin", to you Brits) of sardines. And then he would chow down. My mother would prepare some sort of thing, who knows what, but it would have oregano and basil in it, and eat it by herself.

So, I grew up conflicted. Do I eat sardines, or do I eat something with oregano and basil on it?

Now, years later, I face the same dilemma every time I think about eating: Mediterranean, sardines? Mediterranean, sardines? It never ends. At one point, I thought I’d found a solution. See, there’s a pizza place near me, which delivers, and they offer what they call a "Mediterranean" pizza. This has black olives, feta cheese, oregano, fresh basil and tomatoes, etc. etc. The list goes on and on.So I decided I would live on pizza for the rest of my life. But they had to put anchovies on it.

Now, my Dad is the only human being I ever saw eat anchovies right out of the can. This is tough to do. And that’s when I realized that he had a fish problem, but back then I wasn’t a doctor, and I really couldn’t intervene.

But now, I realized that I could appease both sides of my upbringing, settle both sides of my ancestors so they wouldn’t keep annoying me at night, by living on Mediterranean pizza with added anchovies. Perfect.

Except that I discovered that anchovies give me heartburn, Indigestion. Agonizing, twisting pain that lasts for hours. I realized that this might not be a good strategy for daily meals. So, I had to can ("tin" to you Brits) that idea.

Then, mirabile dictu, I discovered King Oscar’s (I think he was some important guy in Scandinavia, but he’s dead now, so who cares?) "Mediterranean Style" sardines.

Now, these are like any other sardines, really, except that they may have more oil (reputed to be olive oil, but if you believe that when you go to the grocery store and buy olive oil, you are really actually buying olive oil, you’re a fool:

Pardon the interruption. I had to go whizz, which is not easy when you’re drunk, and your house is so big that the bathroom is like a mile-and-a-half-away.

But these sardines also have black olives, which I guess is what makes them "Mediterranean," as opposed to just "oily." So, I’ve just eaten them. The entire can ("tin" to you Brits).

Wasn’t that interesting? I really wish I could remember what I wanted to say.

But now that my Dad’s dead, I’ve thought about it, and I think he was really an OK guy, just over his head.

For instance, he did a couple of "Dadly" things (besides teaching me about sardines). He took me to two baseball games. This is what I guess Dads did with their sons in Brooklyn, NY, especially if these Dads were trying to wean their sons off of "Archie and Veronica" comic books.

I suppose I should mention that neither of us gave flying fuck-and-a-half about baseball. But it was the thought that counted.

Both games, as I recall, were NY Yankees vs LA Angels games, and the Yanks won both times.

I didn’t stop reading "Archie and Veronica" comics, at least not right away. So, he gave up. It was a nice try, though.

And I like mozzarella.

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