Jon de Vos: Martha, the anit-Christ
Fraser, CO Colorado
My wife casually mentioned, “I’m making a special dinner tonight.”
“How nice,” I replied.
“Yes, I thought I’d make some lasagna.”
“Squash lasagna,” she added.
Avid readers, (thanks, Mom) know that I’ve been granted the Lifetime Aversion Award for orange food. I have strong feelings that man was never meant to eat anything orange other than, perhaps, the citrus fruit the color is named after. The rest are poseurs, trying to pass themselves off as edible.
Carrots? I can take or leave them. The only interesting thing about carrots is that if you feed a small child enough of them, you can actually turn that child orange. It only lasts for a few days, unfortunately.
Far and away the orangest thing of all to avoid is squash. Even the name is repulsive. Squash. A bug runs by your foot. What do you do? Of course. Squash.
The inside of the so-called edible squash, in addition to being orange, tastes like something that has lain out in the sun soaking up cow manure for several months. I hate to break it to you, it has.
I said, “Wow, squash lasagna? People would actually do something like that to perfectly good American-Italian food?”
“Don’t be silly, it was a featured recipe in Martha.”
“You really should give people the bad news first. Martha, huh?” I rolled my eyes.
Males see Martha Stewart as the anti-Christ, portraying domestic life as affordable splendor so easily achieved on mere income of the dictator of a small South American country.
“I love Martha,” she said with a smugness intended to end discussion.
I paused, giving her a moment’s taste of victory before starting over, “Did you know they drug-tested Martha when she was admitted to prison? She was way over the legal limit of pesto.”
“You imagine yourself humorous.”
“That’s just stupid.”
“No,” I said, “I hate yams, too. Ever notice how people pack them with molasses, brown sugar and marshmallows? They could eat carpet samples cooked the same way. You people should just give up your Quixotic quest, convincing yourselves that orange mush is something good to ruin lasagna with.”
“Squash lasagna lovers.”
She stared at me levelly for several moments, “So,” she finally said, “I guess the takeaway is that you don’t like orange?”
“Nope, not a bit.”
Her eyes glowed like a piece of airport art. I was surprised she could speak with her teeth clenched so tightly.
“Well, then,” she said slowly, “what do you think of black and blue?”
Raise the threat level to Orange.
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