I have 136. That’s many more than my husband has computer books but his go out of date rapidly and are discardable. Mine are gold.
Of course I also have other books whose subject is food – a stash of food magazines, a collection of nutrition-related manuals and my professional journals (but only the past 10 years of periodicals). Seem like a lot? I don’t think so.
When I worked as a consultant, I often travelled “up north” where French is frequently spoken. So I took a course to brush up on my high school French.
On one visit a senior living in a long term care facility was saying something I could not understand, so I answered as simply as I could, “Je ne parle pas français.” The resident kept on anyway, so I repeated my Je ne parle… a couple of times, in my best pronunciation. The resident kept talking.
Then I noticed a couple of nurses cracking up.
“Donna, they laughed, “he’s speaking English!”
[OK, it’s not exactly about food, but I was doing a meal service review at the time.]
Becel is my choice to replace butter’s higher cholesterol and I usually use the light kind, which has water whipped in to make less looked like more. I know, I know… I’m paying for water, but it does save calories when I spread it on sandwiches. Worth it, I think.
But we have a second tub of Becel, the one with olive oil, that my husband prefers. And I prefer it too, on toast, The water in the light version tends to make toast seem a bit soggy.
Marketers try to seduce us with every kind of nonsense, but they have to put the ingredients and Nutrition Facts on their labels. I’m an avid label-reader as every shopper should be.
You probably already know that the first thing on the ingredient list is what the product contains MOST of. And so on down the line, to the tiny traces.
So if a product has something like saturated fats right up there at the top of the list, back it goes onto the shelf.
I answered the phone at head office and heard the cook from one of our nursing homes complain, “You put a soup on the menu and didn’t give us the recipe. We don’t know how to make it.”
“Which soup?” I asked.
“The French soup – I don’t know how to pronounce it.”
“Spell it,” I suggested.