Homeland Security: Alert Level Green

Zelda was busy mixing up some spinach dip when I got home from work this afternoon.

Yummy! I thought, as I read the mail. I love me some good spinach dip.

We sat down to dinner and I dipped a generous portion onto my plate and grabbed a hunk of Hawaiian loaf that Zelda used instead of a bowl. I scooped up some dip and popped it into my mouth. It was, honestly,...

...a little disappointing.

Now, I know good spinach dip when I taste it. I'm a connoisseur of good spinach dip. And Zelda has made good spinach dip many times. Good, as in take-it-to-parties-and-hear-people-brag-on-it-and-beg-for-the-recipe good. We've had to fight off the urge to dig into it in the car on the way to parties before, and pray for leftovers to nosh on the way home.

Unfortunately, the Christmas '04 version wasn't all that. Even with a bag of chips.

I tried to be diplomatic while hiding my disappointment, but there was no way I could finish the mound of green on my plate. I had a flashback to childhood and an eerily similar situation:

I sat down to supper one night and noticed a bowl of something green. I reached for it, for I love green vegetables. Always have. I can't think of one green vegetable that I don't love (well, maybe English peas, which I only like). Okra, broccoli, turnip greens, mustard greens, collard greens, green beans, snow peas, bell peppers, cucumbers, green tomatoes, green onions, cabbage -- I see one of those and I'm all over it. So I grabbed the bowl and raked about half of it onto my plate, clutched my fork and shoveled a big bite of...

...the vilest thing I have ever put into my mouth. "What is this?!?" I choked.

"It's collard kraut," explained Mrs. DePaul. "You like it?"

"No, it's disgusting!"

"Well, you'd better learn to like it, because you're going to eat all of it that's on your plate," said Mr. DePaul.

As I contemplated the impossible task before me, I tried to determine how collards (which I loved, as I've explained) and kraut (ditto, though kraut is not normally green) could be combined into such a culinary travesty. I began to understand that there was no kraut in collard kraut, but that somehow collards had been krauted, which apparently sends them into a defensive mode similar to those poisonous frogs that cause a psychedelic frenzy when dogs lick them.

And then I protested. It had been an honest mistake. I thought it was spinach. I'd never even heard of collard kraut. But Mr. DePaul still made me eat it. For being greedy, I guess.

He made his point. I paused for some time whenever I faced a bowl of anything green. I'd pretend to stir it up while inhaling its bouquet for identification purposes. I even looked twice at green jello. Thirty years later I thought I was safe.

I asked Zelda, "Is this your normal recipe?" which immediately sent her into a defensive mode that would probably have caused a psychadelic frenzy had I licked her, but that wouldn't have been a good example for Lovett and Dora.

She said it was the normal recipe, but I think she left something out. I tried to explain that the mound of uneaten dip on my plate was testament to my expectation of good spinach dip, which up to now her record has been perfect. I don't think she bought it, though.

I think the homeland security alert around my house will be green for the time being.