That picky, particular Pepsi-swilling Yankee came to visit again.
Or, as I call him, Dad.
Regular readers of my column will remember my father -- a Marylander who was raised in north-of-the-Mason-Dixon-Line Pennsylvania -- and his funny ways with food. And drink. Even though he's visiting the Coke-quaffing South, he never fails to order Pepsi. And not just Pepsi.
Diet. Pepsi.
But I'll reset the scenes the best I can, although I've tried to repress the most distressing of the memories (like when this man who even spent several years living in Texas -- horrors! -- ate his ribs with a fork and knife!).
First, some snippets of dialogue that occurred from when he and my Mom were visiting my first house years ago. I asked what I could have on hand for them.
Dad: Oh, I don't know, Jenny. We don't really need anything. We don't want to impose.
Me: Do you want me to get some coffee?
Dad: We like the Folgers Breakfast Blend. We don't like that French Roast. We got that once and it was just awful. It was bitter.
Me: What kind of cereal do you want Dad? Cheerios?
Dad: I eat Multi Grain Cheerios. Or Crispix. Or shredded wheat. ... If you get the shredded wheat, get the mini ones. And not the frosted ones. I like them plain.
Me: OK, I've got one order for Folgers-Breakfast-Blend-No-French-Roast, Multi-grain Cheerios-Crispix-and mini-shredded-wheat-minus-the-frosting. Anything else? Dad, you drink orange juice, right?
Dad: Right. Tropicana. The acid-free. ... That's it. We don't want to impose!
(On his most recent trip to the Natural State, he did drink plenty of Folgers. Due to diabetes, he no longer does orange juice -- low-acid or otherwise -- although that didn't stop him from eating the blueberry waffles I cooked and forgetting all about that unopened box of Multi Grain Cheerios and 2 percent milk I bought especially for him.)
And there was his last trip when we ordered some quintessential Arkansas carryout from Whole Hog barbecue, known for its inventory of numbered barbecue sauces like the traditional No. 1. Knowing my father's culinary quirks, I should have had a clue that 'cue wouldn't be pretty.
I handed Dad the No. 1, recommending that he start with that before experimenting with the others. He then asked if I would bring out the ketchup.
Oh right, for the fries. I retrieved the plastic bottle of Hunt's, which is when Dad commented he preferred Pennsylvania-based Heinz to California-based Hunt's, as if ketchup isn't just, well, ketchup.
Wait, we didn't have fries. ... Why on earth would Dad need ketchup?
That's when Dad squeezed and slathered ketchup on his sandwich. His pulled. Pork. Sandwich.
Shudder.
And that's when it went from bad to even worse. He said: "I was going to ask if you had salsa. Salsa is good on everything."
Speaking of salsa, this time I took him to a gourmet Mexican restaurant in west Little Rock known, among other things, for its interesting salsas. Of course, Dad only liked the most ordinary of them all. To wash that down, he ordered a beer.
Dad: I'll have a Miller Lite.
Waiter: We don't have Miller Lite. We have Bud Light, and we have Lost Forty and ....
Dad (after a long pause): I'll have ... water.
Did you detect the sulking? To my father, Miller Lite is the Diet Pepsi of beers.
Dad (when the waiter was out of ear shot, just barely): What kind of Mexican restaurant doesn't have Miller Lite?
Me: Yeah. Miller Lite is sooooo Mexican!
I promised Dad he could have a Miller Lite at my house to stop the pouting. He even smiled when his shrimp fajitas arrived (even if they didn't come with rice and beans; those were ala carte, and Dad sniffed he didn't want them in that case). Everything was almost bueno again, until the waiter delivered a small, circular foil package the diameter of a Mason jar to Dad.
Dad (when the waiter was out of ear shot, just barely): "What the hell am I supposed to do with these?"
"These" were the tiniest tortillas ever made.
No Miller Lite? No sides? And now the indignity of mini tortillas? It was almost too much -- too much entertainment for the rest of us. Watching Dad wrestle with the teeny tortillas provided great amusement.
They might not have had Miller Lite.
But they did have Tortillas Lite!
It's time for us to ketchup. Email:
jchristman@arkansasonline.com
Spin Cycle is a smirk at pop culture. You can hear Jennifer on Little Rock's KURB-FM, B98.5 (B98.com), from 5:30 to 9 a.m. Monday through Friday.
Style on 04/30/2017