Culinary Cowardice

I must share with you a recent outrage I experienced right here in San Francisco.

You will perhaps recall my rhapsodies over the brain masala at Shalimar on Polk. Well, all this news coverage over mad cow disease got me to thinking about that masala and so yesterday I made a special trip, in the rain, yet, to have some.

Well, the sissies have stricken it from the menu! Until now I had not appreciated the etymology of the “cow” in cowardice.

I explained patiently (at least at first) that when one is old and sick he gets to eat anything he wants, particularly when his brain is already somewhat spongy, but they were unmoved.

Thank God I still have five veal brains individually wrapped in my freezer. I can’t decide whether to cook them all at once in a great banquet for my friends or to stingily eat them one at a time by myself.

Finally, an observation from my outpost on the Slippery Slope: The transition from humming a happy little tune while one works to just uttering continual grunts is subtle, so I’m not sure when I made it.

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