Men everywhere are confronted with girl food. They try and escape it with triple decker hamburgers, barbecue, and beer. They ignore it with raw kibi, lamb kabobs, and Turkish coffee. They thumb their nose by eating blood sausage, meaty oily olives, and glasses of Tio Pepe. They don't even ask why we do it, just that they don't have to do it.
Girls like light foods. Tomato aspic if you are from the South and have an old fashioned streak. Quiche if you came of age in the 1980's. Lobster salad will work just about anytime. Same goes for chicken salad made with purple grapes, pecans and dill weed served with a plate of fresh and dizzyingly varied fruit. And who can argue that squash casserole does not fit into the girl-food paradigm? How about slices of pineapple on a chilled iceberg lettuce with grated cheddar cheese and mayonnaise – preferably homemade and if there is a kitchen madonna about? Let's go on and make the sweeping conclusion that girl food is a cross- cultural phenomenon, and it will not go away. I bet Rachel and her Hebrew sisters had it in their red tent thousands of years ago.
We have our reasons at times for wanting light, non-filling, and easily digestible dishes and not testosterone charged red meat. I used to live on a large cattle ranch and adored having a freezer full of rib eye steaks, roasts of every description, luscious liver (ask me how to cook it), and ground beef that tastes like nothing any grocery store sells. I knew those heifers before they ended up in my dutch oven. Cared for them and loved them too. But some days, I just don't want beef or anything heavy or chewy or bulky or anything that does not look girlie sitting on my antique Limoges bone china or in my delicate abdominal region.
This is why women are like Maserati's. We are highly engineered, delicate machinery. Our thermostats are delicately calibrated. We need oil changes quite a few times within the calendar – or should I say lunar – year. We cry over seemingly small things yet we can push a six to 10 pound human being through the birth canal, feed it with our very bodies, and worry over it and pray for it until we die. No wonder we have reason to avoid that too full feeling, that we are always on diets, that we need to comfort ourselves with tomato aspic. We deserve it!
Men are like Fords. They work hard, run hard, they are either in park or 5th gear. They need good emergency brakes! And since they don't give birth, let them eat steaks that are so big they won't fit on a regular plate.
Just so they know and respect what we go through to give them their children. Just so they know when to procure the sushi.
