[cartoon thanks to atheistcartoons.com]
[cartoon thanks to jesusandmo.net]
[cartoon thanks to treelobsters.com]
Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. (1 John 2:15)
While Christians are supposed to keep their eyes on the prize to come, I have my eyes on lunch. Continuing with last Sunday’s theme of the sacred mundane, I present to you part II of my personal Bible: The Culinary Commandments.
Maybe the following commandments ought to be discussed in Sunday school sessions across the land, in addition to the customary 10. You know, teach the controversy. Why not let children hear alternatives so they can choose for themselves?
—
The Lord of my stomach spake the Commandments (which had been scribbled upon the most holy index card and attached to the fridge with a kitty-cat magnet). The kitchen echoed with these words:
Thou shalt put no other Lords before me, not even the Lord of thy intellect, and especially not the Lord of thy privates.
Thou shalt not make graven images in thy mashed potatoes, nor shall thy wrestle naked in thy coleslaw.
Thou shalt surely kill thy fish and fowl and swine and steer and cook these before eating of them. Raw flesh is food of foreigners and trendy infidels. Thou must save thyself from the temptation to sample a bite.
Thou shalt not steal the plumpest shrimp from the platter before thine dinner guests arrive. Thou shalt nibble on the ugly little ones.
Thou shalt not lie about thine Thanksgiving pumpkin pie being made from “scratch.” If thou has taken up thy can opener, thou must pay homage to Del Monte.
Thou shalt not commit an adulteration of thy pancake batter. If it ain’t broke, thou shalt not go throwing chocolate chips in there.
Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s grilled sirloin, though the savory smoke wafts into thine open window, and thou full knowest that thou is having tunafish casserole for dinner.
Now the Lord fell silent. He pulled a package from the freezer, put it in the microwave, and set it on “defrost.” The Lord continued . . . .
Remember thy napkin, and keep it in thy lap, and not just when dining with Grandma, who hath an eagle eye.
Honor thy father’s and thy mother’s recipes. Thou shalt never banish the blessed, original ingredients and in their stead use the lesser, “low-fat” kind. Nor shalt thou ever attempt to sneak soycheese, soyburgers, or soydogs into thine unsuspecting family’s supper.
Thou shalt not bear false witness about the milk. Thou shall check the expiration date and lift it to thy nose and thy mouth. For if thy wife drinks of it, and becomes ill and perishes, she will nevermore be in the mood to be fruitful.
And finally, the Lord said, For six days shalt thou toil at thy sink and at thy stove. But on the seventh day, thou may use thy cell phone to cry out for pizza. And though that prayer will be answered, thou shalt be charged for it.
Amen.
[cartoon thanks to atheistcartoons.com]
[click image to enlarge; cartoon thanks to xkcd.com]
[cartoon thanks to treelobsters.com]
Imagine you have walked over miles of desert sands. You discover a pecan pie. The nuts are spread across the top in an obvious pattern, and the crust has a perfectly crimped edge. It is beautiful. And it smells divine. You conclude, nothing like this could have happened by chance. This pie must therefore have a baker.
The above is my proof that life on earth is not the result of random evolution but of a fulfilled recipe. In other words, where you find a pie, you will always discover a baker . . . unless of course, it is a Marie Calendar pie, in which case, where you find a pie in a cardboard box, you will discover a fully automated factory. But nevermind that.
Allow me to share the first book of my personal Bible. I call it, “The Genesis of Dessert.”
—
“This is not real coffee!” the Lord bellowed.
It was the first day, very early, and the Lord of my stomach had made coffee. The Lord had separated the coffee of darkness from the coffee of lightness. Upon sampling the light, he cried in disgust. Upon tasting the coffee of darkness, the pure breakfast beverage, he said, “now this is coffee. And it is good.”
The Lord then divided the Columbian from the beans Arabica, and he drove the lesser beans from the kingdom of the kitchen.
On the second day, the Lord separated the bagel from the English muffin. He sprinkled seeds of the earth, seeds of poppy and seeds of sesame, onto the bagel. He cleaved the bagel. And he toasted it.
The Lord took the whiteness that didn’t belong in the coffee, and he smote the whiteness. Behold, there was butter. The Lord spread the butter over the firmness of the bagel. And it was good.
During the third day, the Lord beheld a potato bun, and a chorus of angels sang. He divided the top half of the bun from the bottom. And it was so. And the Lord said, “let all the condiments be gathered together, and all the luncheon meats be gathered together, and all the luncheon cheeses be gathered together — but not American cheese, for it is the work of the devil.”
And the Lord brought forth from the fruit of the earth some lettuce, some tomato, and some red onion very thinly sliced. From this chaos the Lord fashioned a heavenly sandwich. And it was good enough to knock his socks off, had the Lord been wearing socks.
On the fifth day the Lord flossed his teeth. Upon his toothbrush he laid Super Tarter Control toothpaste. And he brushed. And he gargled.
On the sixth day the toaster became possessed. A great pillar of smoke arose and a vision of Julia Child appeared. Archangel Julia spoke unto The Lord, and he was moved. The Lord took dictation onto an index card. He recorded ten Culinary Commandments. Yay, now all would know the way to eternal . . . salivation.
The Lord searched far and wide for a place to enshrine the most holy index card. And then he knew. The Lord affixed the Commandments to his refrigerator with a kitty-cat magnet.
The Lord descended onto his lounge chair, and he reclined. During this seventh day, he rested.
And on this seventh day the beasts of the earth, the Broncos, took to the field of the chosen team, the Patriots of the air game. Saint Tebow was shewn no mercy, and was made feeble by the blitz. And the Denver run-option was kaput.
The Lord raised his hand and pressed a finger, and football was no more.
On the eighth day the Lord put away the dishes: he stacked the plates, he sorted the silverware, and he tossed the Tupperware into the cabinet and closed the door quickly, before it could topple back out.
And the Lord of my stomach spoke yet again. He proclaimed, “For those who follow my Commandments, there will be pie for dessert!”
—
[next week: the Ten Culinary Commandments revealed]
P.S. Biological life is nothing like pecan pie.
Should the “traffic” of our thoughts be guided by signs and laws? No U turn, school zone ahead, speed limit, detour ahead, not a through street . . . ?
[cartoon thanks to xkcd.com]
[cartoon thanks to jesusandmo.net]
[cartoon thanks to treelobsters.com]
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