Category: Food

Irony

Bruce MeistermanLeave a comment

It’s the holiday season, (Happy Holidays to all!), and that means we’re subjected to all sorts of advertisements asking or hawking something. It’s not enough that we’re just recovering from a slew of political advertising, but insult is now added to injury.

Take this coupling of back-to-back commercials seen the other night. The first one was for Feed the Hungry featuring a very sincere Scarlett Johansson. Certainly a good cause for those with little, especially around this season of giving. The second commercial immediately after that was for high-end David Yurman jewelry featuring, wait for it, a very alluring Scarlett Johansson. What is the message here?

This is not to say Ms. Johansson should refrain from such commercials activities. It’s likely she believes deeply about feeding the less fortunate. That does not prevent her from capitalizing on her fame to promote jewelry, some which she may already possess.

It does say something about the TV station/network in carelessness in scheduling commercials. A David Yurman ad right after a PSA (public service announcement) for the hungry is pretty thoughtless in itself. But when the spokesperson for both is the same, it borders on insensitivity. It diminishes the message of both. Perhaps they were making a statement of their own, “Look even the rich care about the poor.” Doubtful. What would Scarlett say about it?

But we’re confronted with this kind of thing daily. It’s not unusual to see a horrible highway accident story on the news followed by an ad for a personal injury lawyer. Tasteless? Sure. Too soon? Probably not – for the lawyer.

Late night TV is where a lot of this occurs. Watch Fallon, Kimmel, or Colbert and see countless ads for personal injury lawyers back to back to back. Each one claims to make you richer than the other. That’s nice. Now you too will be able to afford David Yurman jewelry. Just don’t count on Scarlett delivering the check.

What is a friend?

Bruce MeistermanLeave a comment

It’s a word bandied about rather loosely without the true meaning attached to it. We receive “Friend” requests on Facebook, yet a “friend” on that site connotes something more than it actually is. Used that way, the word is becoming meaningless

The Oxford Language definition of friend is this: a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations. Do we really have that bond with our social media friends? Ehhh, I don’t think so. Nor can we. We are too far removed because of social media to have a genuine connection.

While it’s true many us have lots of “friends”, how many of those could we rely on should the need arise? Do we need that many friends? And how many of them really share our values, ideologies, positions, even our taste in ice cream? How important is that? You decide.

We are too quick to make new “friends” that we miss the value in the real ones who don’t need or maybe even want to know where we had dinner last night. Or why they weren’t there with us. A true friend respects our needs and asks nothing more than the same from us.

Finally, are we true friends to others? Hopefully, yes. Otherwise, we’re just acquaintances.

Partridgeberry jam: Nectar of the Gods.

Bruce Meisterman3 Comments

I’m not getting out much anymore. Sounds almost like a song. No, that’s “Don’t get around much anymore.” Good try. Johnny, show Bruce what he’s won.

No, I’m not getting out. There is a lot of work to do on this book. While I’m deeply involved in now creating the bones for “Arn? Narn.”, I find myself mightily homesick for Newfoundland. As I’ve written before, it has been a singularly transformative experience. To requote my wife from an earlier blog entry: “Where you’re born is not necessarily where you’re from.” Ergo – homesick.

I’m everyday looking at images from a land I’ve grown to love immensely. And it is so far away my heart feels as if it will break. I do miss it that much. (Little man on my shoulder – “Oh, grow the hell up!”)

OK, sniff-sniff, I will.

While I’m printing the photographs for the book, I am still keeping up with news from Newfoundland on the internet. I want to keep it as current as possible and include anything that might impact the story.

I see ads for restaurants, coffee shops, B&B’s, whale watches, etc. Some of these I’ve been to and remember them fondly. Other ads are just that, ads. Ads for car dealers; ads for hospital supplies (always good to know where you can get a splint in a hurry); and ads for other sundry items that I’ll never need. Whoa! What’s this?

It’s an ad for all things Newfoundland. And in that ad, partridgeberry jam. Now, if you’ve never had partridgeberry jam, write your will out now, pick out your box, and get your affairs in order. There’s no need to go on living. It’s that good.

This is it. The real stuff!

In other parts of the world, the partridgeberry in known as the lingonberry. I don’t know – that sounds like something you might call someone who’s a little drunk or just not with it. With slurred speech: “That guy’s a lingonberry!” Now, partridgeberry – not so – there’s a nobility to that.

“I’ll have the scones with the partridgeberry jam on it, James.” That sounds proper, doesn’t it? Now, replace it with lingonberry and you might as well be living in a trailer. “Puh-leeze pass the lingonberry jelly, Paw!” No, it has to be partridgeberry. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Woo-hoo! I called this store and they will ship it to the US. Of course who knows what customs would do when they got their hands on it. I can see it now – you’re driving through the gate at the US/Canada border and the Canadian guard is slathering my partridgeberry jam all over his Tim Horton donut while asking you for your papers! Homeland security my foot!

I order 4 jars of this edible soul salve and wait until it passes through the gauntlet of regulation and illicit tasting by border guards. It arrives. The top of each jar is covered with a cute, red piece of fabric. How precious! Tear that $%$!* off and give me the jam, damn it!

Once opened, once tasted, calm and contentment are restored. All that from just a little jar of partridgeberry jam. Yeah. it’s really that good. Yes, b’y.