On potluck testing and Tee Vee Pee

And winning friends with cardboard pizza

Once upon a time dear reader, in university days, there were these things, horrible social encounters.

I’m not so sure that encounters is the correct term. Let’s call them tests.

Not as serious as an exam, nor extensive as a term paper, these tests were telling and memorable to all involved.

These tests dear reader, were called potlucks.

For me, potluck means finding a half smoked joint in a corner of a shed somewhere after hurting my back moving stuff.

In that situation, I’m lucky to have found a gift from my past when the present calls for it.

But a potluck?

Potlucks provided grounds for status games around taste, knowledge of odd and unpalatable ingredients, crackpot theories about health and serve as a breeding ground for veganism.

Let’s just be clear. The dude who could cook was always surrounded by ladies. At theatre school Frank was a great cook. The women adored him for it. And that smarmy bastard? Well, he had his way with most of them. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I guess with women, there is a similar impact when it comes to cooking, only the energy travels downward.

But potlucks weren’t merely part of a the breeding pit mentality of post secondary education. They were also places to display arcane knowledge.

It was at a potluck held by an eco activist friend that I first discovered a food that was not so much a food but an acronym - TVP. If your ingredient can be summed up in three short letters dear reader, take that as a warning. Run far away, as quickly as you possibly can.

For the uninitiated, TVP stands for ‘textured vegetable protein’. Some describe it as a healthy alternative to meat. In reality? It’s a crime against humanity.

People used to bring TVP to display how in the know, progressive and above all, alternative they were in the way back times of the 90’s. TVP was a hippie punk anti globalist way to sticking it to ‘the man’ and his ditty cattle industry.

Now?

Now we know how intensive pasture grazing improves the soil and can be a big part of healing the earth. Back in the 90’s though, people with potlucks used TVP as a way of using social pressure to trick people into pretending they like cardboard smeared with dog shit.

Then, there are the people with magical beliefs in ingredients - you know them, the oil of oregano people, the garlic people and the folks of the mushroom. These are the people who believe if you eat an excessive amount of any of these things, you will be cured of all that ails ya such that you live a chemical free life until you die peacefully in your sleep at the ripe old age of three hundred and seventy five.

These foodie evangelicals don’t typically trust doctors. They think that chemicals are bad, big pharma is bad, GMO’s were created by Satan and our only hope is to repent and give our lives to our lord and saviour - fresh, uncooked garlic that is most importantly ORGANIC.

They would loudly trumpet the benefits of eating seven cloves of garlic. This is a shrewd strategy when successful. Not only do they justify their own insanity, but if they convince a member of the opposite sex to join them in their insanity, their chances of reproduction skyrocket.

I know one such couple that grew from a garlic romance. To this day, I still refer to their kid as that stinky little fucker.

As for veganism?

My god.

What a fucking nightmare.

It goes back to the old joke: How do you know if there’s a vegan at your potluck?

Don’t worry, they’ll let you know.

I won’t regale you with anti vegan stories, dear reader, I’m sure you’ve experienced them all. I’ll only end with a question:

What makes the face of a vegan look so damn punchable?

Is it their feigned shock that people eat meat, their raised eyebrows of self righteousness or their hungry, growling sulking when no one eats their fake cheese made from oat milk curd and the TVP and garlic casserole that no one eats.

Eventually back at theatre school, the vegan parasite managed to whine her way to a rule that people would bring 50% vegan food so the potluck was more ‘inclusive’.

It was at this time that several of us decided never to go to those parties again.

So much for inclusivity eh?

You see, dear reader, I’m a man who could live for years off strong coffee, power shakes, a Handful of Honey nut Cherieos and a bit of dried salami, cooking is not my forte.

Invite me to a potluck and I’ll go to Walmart and buy a case of chocolate bars. One for everyone. I’d brave that corrosive global monster just to spite the hippies. And the bars? Not some hippie fair trade free love 90% coco bars that a vegan could eat. I’d buy Mars bars.

If the Walmart was closed, I’d pick up a pizza. But not a wood fired, local hippie pizza. I’d get Pizza Pizza, Little Caesars, Dominoes or whatever was cheap, plentiful and covered with meat and cheese.

And the best part about it dear reader?

I never had to describe what I brought. Folks knew what it was. They ate it up.

Others returned home with sad dishes filled with garlic, tofu, tofini, TVP and soba while I folded up empty pizza and candy bar boxes.

If people voted with what they ate, back then, I was the reluctant mayor of potluck city. If potlucks were a test, I passed with flying colours. TVP will get you noticed, but candy bars and pizza will get you love.

I’m writing this dear reader, as I was just invited to a potluck by a reader of this here foolsletter.

And to my good friend I’ll say this:

Don’t worry. I am now married. Laura will make some food. We’ll bring that.

And me?

I’ll leave my potluck trauma at home.

Stay hungry you fools.

And?

If attending a potluck with college age hippies?

Be sure to get a Big Mac before going.

You’ll thank me for it later ;-)