I had some onions and also a can of pickled beets that needed eating. I decided to make some beet salad, which is a dish from my childhood, although I don’t make mine the same way anymore. When I was growing up, we used to make it with diced pickled beets (you can barely find pickled beets anymore, let alone diced ones), sweet pickle relish, chopped raw white onion and Miracle Whip Salad Dressing which, I will be the first to tell you, is not mayonnaise. Miracle Whip has vinegar in it and is sweeter and cheaper than mayonnaise. I was never really wild about it, but that’s all my mom would buy. (Then, pickled beet salad was a treat for my mom and me. Neither my brother nor my dad would touch it.)
I make my beet salad with a can of (diced) pickled beets, chopped white onion, diced kosher dill pickles and mayonnaise. I like my version much better. There’s sufficient vinegar in the pickled beets without having it in the dressing as well. Since I had two smallish white onions that needed using, I used three fourths of an onion in the beet salad, and the other onion and a fourth in some tuna salad which I have been hungry for. I make tuna salad with chopped white onions, chopped kosher dill pickles, chopped black olives, 2 cans of tuna packed in water, and mayonnaise. Hellmann’s is my mayonnaise brand of choice. I did all the chopping myself, including dicing the sliced pickled beets, and dicing the kosher dill spears. The olives were already chopped.
The kitties each got their teaspoon sized morsel of tuna which is all I will give them. Within half an hour, the grey one had refunded hers. That was the third time she’d barfed today. I think I misnamed her. I should have called her Barfarella. Her timing is impeccable. Just when I’ve gotten my meal prepared and am about to sit down and partake of it . . . . and if she’s not in the mood, the white one will oblige. Never fails.
After I daddy sat and then went to get my car license sticker, I stopped by the bank to get a money order for my rent, by Petsmart to get kitty food and litter, then went home by way of Burger King to try the logistics of negotiating Slide Road and its busy seven lanes of traffic to get food and then get it home. Since I was coming north, I only had to turn across three lanes of oncoming traffic to get into the Burger King parking lot, but to get home from there, I had to cross all seven lanes, though not all at once.
Our streets that are larger than two lanes (one in each direction) have a “turning lane” down the middle of the street. The turning lane gives vehicles that want to turn across the oncoming lanes of traffic a place to wait without obstructing the traffic behind them until it is clear to turn. However, traffic going in both directions uses this single lane, which is why it’s called the “suicide lane. ” You have to be careful when you go swooping into it that an oncoming vehicle doesn’t decide to swoop into it at the same time. Typically, if you are trying to cross a busy street when you’re not at a traffic light — say you’re coming out of a parking lot on one side of the street, but want to turn into a side street on the other side (like I did today), you have to do it by halves. Wait for one direction to be clear so you can turn into the suicide lane, where you can safely wait for the other direction to be clear. Anyway, I made it home in one piece.
The Burger King hamburger made a nice change. Their meat patties are “flame broiled,” supposedly over an open flame instead of being cooked on a grill. Gives them a different taste. I had the BBQ Bacon Whopper. Their French fries are nothing to write home about, though. They have something called “Satisfries” which are crinkle cut fries, but I’ve never had them. They might be better. A note for the Brits in the crowd — American French fries are julienne cut (cut lengthwise) and deep fried. As I understand it, British “chips” are potatoes cut width wise and fried. They are generally thicker and one side is typically curved. Now, to totally confuse the issue, what Americans call “potato chips,” the Brits call “crisps.” Like the man said* . . .
Anyway, after I polished off my Whopper and had a postprandial nap, I watched TV — Animal Planet. They have a show about a guy who builds tree houses, and another show about a guy who builds swimming pools. I had not seen either show before, and both were rather watchable. Typically, a show will air twice — to hit the “prime time” period of first the east coast, and then later the west coast. When they started their repeat, I got up and started dicing things. Every time I go into the kitchen, the white kitty will follow me. If I’m there for any length of time, the grey one will join him. The kitchen is where the treat jar is. The black one does not care for the flavor of treats on offer at the moment, but when they smell onions or pickles, they all gather in hopes of tuna. Tonight, they got lucky.
The big bowl of tuna salad and the smaller bowl of beet salad are chilling in the refrigerator at the moment, but they’ve been whispering in my ear since I put them in the fridge. I may have to get up and have some in a moment.
In news unrelated to food, but related to the fact that the predicted high for today, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday is 100F/37.7C, is prickly heat. I hada patch break out under my left breast last summer. I took precautions and treated it as directed, and it finally cleared up. Now I’ve got a patch of it in my left armpit. Apparently, the left side of my body is coming apart at the seams, with bone spurs, ganglion cysts, pinched nerves, a bum knee, a bum shoulder . . .
Oh, and BTW, I succumbed to the whispering in my ear. A small bowl of tuna salad to be spooned onto crackers, and a small dish of beet salad. One oughtn’t to play favorites . . .
*”England and America are two countries divided by a common language,” is the quote attributed to George Bernard Shaw. In The Canterville Ghost (1887), Wilde wrote: “We have really everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language.” Take your pick.