Last weekend we had dinner with our adorable friends Milo and Thuy. Bless their hearts, they confessed to being intimidated by having us over for dinner, because we had such sharp palates. It’s flattering, but I don’t know that it’s really true.
DPaul and I are most certainly not professional chefs, nor are we specially trained. I suppose the only thing that qualifies us as any kind of foodie is, basically, a clear idea of what we like and don’t like, and a broad sense of adventure culinarily speaking.
Both DPaul’s parents and my mother also seem to feel that we require something more fancy, more highfalutin than we really do. Here’s the thing about food snobbery: As far as I’m concerned, it’s not about what’s the most fancy, the most expensive, the most creative, the most exotic. (Though occasionally it is.) It’s just about what’s good. Wholesome. Yummy. And sometimes — sometimes — that can be achieved via the most pedestrian means.
Case in point. Sunday morning. DPaul had a tour to lead. We had two events to attend that day. What to do for breakfast? Hmm, box of Jiffy corn muffin mix, check. Frozen blueberries, check. Milk and egg, check!
And you know what? They were good. Yummy, even.