6.18.2007

What's For Dinner?



Wow, do I love food. Meals are some of my favorite times of the day. Funny how much of appetite is mental. I'll have it so firmly in my head that I don't like some particular food, then I try it and decide that I love it and can't get enough. Since college, this has happened to me in relation to any number of (veggie) foods: beans, kale, collard greens, brussels sprouts, and, most recently, eggplant. I discovered a few weeks ago that I can make a really good Eggplant Parmesan at home, and now I can't stop trying to perfect the recipe. I've been buying expensive, specialized ingredients for it, which is something I rarely do: coarse sea salt, fresh mozzarella, tomato sauce from the North End. As good as it is, though, eggplant will never replace my first food love: french fries. I could eat buckets of them. I'd feel really sick afterward, but it would be fun at the time.

Let's see, what else. Oh yeah. I went to the library this afternoon and got a copy of Catch-22. The scene I referred to yesterday is really, really long, and I messed up certain details, but I've transcribed part of it below in the interest of setting the record straight.

In this scene, at the end of chapter 8, Cadet Clevinger is on trial for "breaking ranks while in formation, felonious assualt, indiscriminate behavior, mopery, high treason, provoking, being a smart guy, listening to classical music, and so on." Also in the room: the colonel (the one running things), Major Metcalf, Lieutenant Scheisskopf, and a corporal.

‘What did you mean,’ [the corporal] inquired slowly, ‘when you said we couldn’t punish you?’

‘When, sir?’

‘I’m asking the questions. You’re answering them.’

‘Yes, sir. I--’

‘Did you think we brought you here to ask questions and for me to answer them?’

‘No, sir. I--’

‘What did we bring you here for?’

‘To answer questions.’

‘You’re goddam right,’ roared the colonel. ‘Now suppose you start answering some before I break your goddam head. Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn’t punish you?’

‘I don’t think I ever made that statement, sir.’

‘Will you speak up, please. I couldn’t hear you.’

‘Yes, sir. I--’

‘Will you speak up, please? He couldn’t hear you.’

‘Yes, sir. I--’

‘Metcalf.’

‘Sir?’

‘Didn’t I tell you to keep you stupid mouth shut?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then keep your stupid mouth shut when I tell you to keep your stupid mouth shut. Do you understand? Will you speak up, please? I couldn’t hear you.’

‘Yes, sir. I--’

‘Metcalf, is that your foot I’m stepping on?’

‘No, sir. It must be Lieutenant Scheisskopf’s foot.’

‘It isn’t my foot,’ said Lieutenant Scheisskopf.

‘Then maybe it is my foot after all,’ said Major Metcalf.

‘Move it.’

‘Yes, sir. You’ll have to move your foot first, Colonel. It’s on top of mine.’

‘Are you telling me to move my foot?’

‘No, sir. Oh, no, sir.’

‘Then move your foot and keep your stupid mouth shut. Will you speak up, please? I still couldn’t hear you.’

‘Yes, sir. I said that I didn’t say that you couldn’t punish me.’

‘Just what the hell are you talking about?’

‘I’m answering the question, sir.’

‘What question?’

‘“Just what the hell did you mean, you bastard, when you said we couldn’t punish you?”’ said the corporal who could take shorthand, reading from his steno pad.

‘All right,’ said the colonel. ‘Just what the hell did you mean?’

‘I didn’t say you couldn’t punish me, sir.’

‘When?’ asked the colonel.

‘When what, sir?’

‘Now you’re asking me questions again.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I don’t understand your question.’

‘When didn’t you say we couldn’t punish you? Don’t you understand my question?’

‘No, sir. I don’t understand.’

‘You’ve just told us that. Now suppose you answer my question.’

‘But how can I answer it?’

‘That’s another question you’re asking me.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. But I don’t know how to answer it. I never said you couldn’t punish me.’

‘Now you’re telling us when you did say it. I’m asking you to tell us when you didn’t say it.’

Clevinger took a deep breath. ‘I always didn’t say you couldn’t punish me, sir.’

‘That’s much better, Mr. Clevinger, even though it is a barefaced lie.’