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Mellifluous Mates
| Article
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17264 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
2 / 1990 |
578 Words |
| Author
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Eloise Paananen
Eloise Paananen is a food and travel writer based in
Washington, D.C. |
Long before the advent of computer dating, certain foods were introduced to each other. Meat seemed to suit potatoes quite well. The offspring, of course, was named gravy. Ham hocks wedded split peas, with onions, carrots, and seasonings in attendance. That marriage continues harmoniously as split pea soup.
Many chance encounters produced amazing results. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches come to mind. What red-blooded youngster ever left home to join the circus without one?
Eggs said hello to bacon one morning, and grits sidled up to hunks of ham and drawled, "Hi, y'all." There was no flag-waving; just tradition setting in at home, at the diner, and abroad.
Watercress was accosted by little triangles and rounds of thinly buttered bread during high tea. This was a rather formal arrangement, engineered by matriarchs bent on balancing sweets with a savory sampling of greens on pretty bread arrangements. Fragile though it was, the twosome survived the lace-gloved prettiness of yesteryear and remains reliable.
Meanwhile, in the czar's great kitchens, a somber Orthodox marriage took place between sour cream and thin slices of filet mignon. "Gently! Gently!" cried the chef, as the world's first beef Stroganoff took its vows. The kabobs of Genghis Khan - vegetables and chunks of meat threaded onto swords and roasted over flames - had no such admonitions from prenuptial counselors. Kabobs, whether raw or scorched, were marriages made in heaven.
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