Keifel and I were discussing the feasibility of deep-fried marshmallows. I don’t think it’s possible as the marshmallows would expand making the coating crack and then all the marshmallow goo would leak out into the oil making a spectacular mess. I’ve never tried it, of course. I’m not all that keen on deep frying at home. I think that’s a thing best left to those with the proper professional equipment and the concept of the Fry Daddy grosses me out, the idea of letting the oil sit (fester?) between uses. Even with filtering it, it bothers me.
The fact that I had a reasoned answer to Keifel’s inquiry about the deep-fried marshmallows impressed him greatly and prompted a spontaneous, “i love you,” which in our relationship usually means: I love the way your mind works and that you know or think about these kinds of geeky things.
I sometimes wonder if the amount of time and energy I put into all things food-related is deserved or healthy. We all have our passions. Mine happens to be all things culinary, from cooking an omelette to why it’s called an omelette to the very best methods and equipment to its nutritional content to why there are people who don’t have enough to eat let alone access to an omelette to the treatment and welfare of the chicken that laid the egg.
Food, as fuel, is something that is essential to our lives. Food as science plays into that and food as art or craft elevates it to something more than simple fuel. This is my passion and it’s taken me a hell of a long time to be okay with the idea that I can follow my passion and make a living at it and not be somehow letting someone else down because I am not right now writing the greatest poem ever or working on my PhD to fight for a rare, rare professorship in English. I’m okay with it and I find myself in a position, suprisingly to me, of no one batting an eyelid. Must have been my own demons holding me back.
And for the record, I don’t like marshmallows (well, unless they are on a stick, over an open flame and have been on fire at some point).