Let Them Eat Cake

Do you remember when your mother’s “Make sure you eat enough” changed into “Don’t eat too much”? I don’t. My grandmother – whom I absolutely loved – used to mischievously point out that I had taken on weight; she lovingly pinched me in my chubby cheeks. She thought it was a good thing. And I can imagine that everyone who has been through both world wars thinks it’s a good plan to have some extra reserves, just in case. But it looks like I am writing my memoir here. Let’s focus on the topic of the day. Today, I want to talk about the food in the San Francisco Bay Area.

Do you know that I used to associate American food with big containers of Heinz ketch-up, huge cups of Coke and, of course, popcorn with butter taste and cinnamon smell. That is what product placement does to naïve little European kids in their tiny rural villages, sitting in front of the TV watching American shows. The poor little ones think the world looks like it does on TV. The imported shows were great for our English – though we probably heard way too much cursing on TV – but not so great for our knowledge about the real America. We mixed up reality and fiction. The truth is, I just found out that American people aren’t shooting the whole time, the A-Team does not exist and people don’t wear red bathing suits when they walk around town. That is, in the Bay Area, my field of expertise for now.

And to come to my point: the people I know here don’t eat what I saw Brandon or Chandler eat on TV. My friends are pretty sophisticated eaters. They eat local and organic produce and ethnic food; they grow carrots and eggplants in their backyards or on their window sills and they raise Plymouth Rock hens and Jersey Giants that lay beautiful eggs. And no, my friends are not the self-righteous Birkenstock types you may think they are.

(To Be Continued…)