Tuna on wheat: a fixed and unalterable point in the space-time continuum
What other people are saying about their lunch:
“At Bob’s urging, I just made my lunch for tomorrow.”
“I had a Pizza McPuff at MCdonald’s but did not have any fun as I has to study after that!!! :((”
— Prateek Saxena at Lunch is Fun (TM)
“The tally as of tonight is carrot cake and mashed potatoes for the annual Christmas potluck, panzanella and mac & chee […] and four loads of laundry, all folded and put away.”
— Head Nurse
Someone — someone, I should say, with piercing acumen, who evidently has seen through my intricate deceptions and perceived that as a blogger I am a but a faux poseur feigning a false front of spurious pretense — has hipped me to a how-to manual containing 100 tips for improving one’s blog. The how-to manual is called Nobody Cares What You Had For Lunch. I have not read this book, but presumably, somewhere within, its author makes the outrageous claim that nobody cares what I had for lunch.
Which would be quite the little sliver of enlightenment if it were true. But surely no such attitude is possible.
Unless — all right, I’m willing to concede the remote possibility that lunch, of all the eighteen daily meals, is perhaps of an inherently less riveting nature than, possibly, the midnight snack (with its dramatic refrigerator-lit chiaroscuro), or Happy Hour (deep-fried denouement-on-a-stick with rejuvenating tinctures at half price), or the midmorning puff-pastry break (which needs no explanation). Compared to these brilliant jewels in the crown of the epicure’s daily scavenges, what is lunch but a cramped mid-day hour whose shining monument is a tuna-on-wheat at your desk? Or worse, a dreary interim of jousting with a “chicken caesar” in a noisy joint crowded with melancholy worker drones whose futile dreams of quitting the rat race to train in the Swiss Alps for the World Stone-Skipping Championships are written in furrows upon their sallow, defeated brows?
Yes, maybe lunch, with its preternaturally deterministic overtones, is too existential crisis-y a subject for lite blogular contemplation. Nobody cares about lunch because, see, they care about it too much, and ultimately an hour just isn’t long enough to come to grips with dreary suicide-inducing conclusions about free will and how the fixed nature of tuna-on-wheat cannot change simply as a result of whether one considers a given sandwich to be past or future.
I can dig it.
So it’s dinner people care about, undoubtedly.
If no one cares what I had for dinner, is it really probable that, as the author of Nobody Cares What You Had For Lunch suggests, the reader will “gasp with delight” upon exposure to, god forbid, my “childhood memories”? And what about her call to pad blog content by conducting “unnecessary experiments”? Surely if a reasonably peckish reader cannot work up an interest in a spinster aunt’s plate of crispy Patagonian toothfish with spicy citrus compote, couscous, and roasted Brussel’s sprouts, the fault lies not with me, but with our oppressive system of how-to manuals, and the absence of rational understanding they promote.
Crispy Patagonian toothfish with spicy citrus compote
Determine that your monger has acquired the specimen from a fishery practicing sustainable harvesting. Rub fillet with olive oil, salt, pepper. Coat lightly with panko. Roast for 10 minutes in a convection oven at 400 degrees F.
Combine in a saucepan and simmer until fruit is mushy and liquid is syrupy:
â€¢ several glugs of white wine
â€¢ an assortment of chopped tangerine, grapefruit, mango, pineapple and yellow raisins
â€¢ a dried Thai chile pod
â€¢ a clove of garlic, smashed
â€¢ a few slices of ginger or galangal
â€¢ a couple smidges of brown sugar