I Would Eat That Off A Squirrel

In 2006 Dave Barry wrote a blog post describing the phenomenon of children and cupcakes. His essay did not, as you might expect, sing the praises of the cupcake, but rather focused in on one essential truth:

“Turns out kindergarteners don't use the cupcake for anything other than a Frosting Delivery Platform (FDP). You could bring your frosting in on top of rocks, or pine cones, or tame (or frozen) squirrels, and the kids would just lick the frosting layer off and leave the naked FDP for you to dispose of.”

The cupcake, serving in Barry’s scenario as the FDP, is of little significance. What is important to grasp from Barry’s adventures in kindergarten culinary habits is this early passion that the children have for food. They don’t just like the frosting, they love it. And they love it as something more than just food. Frosting is bliss.

This essay struck a particular chord deep within me for several reasons. The first being that I too, as a kindergartener, understood that the cupcake was inconsequential, but the frosting really mattered. I used to lick the top of my cupcakes clean and then hand them off to my parents saying “here, you can have the rest,” and feeling genuinely perplexed that they did not want the hunk of plain vanilla cake now covered not in delicious whipped sugar but rather by my saliva. Catching on quickly to the FDP dilemma, my mother put the kibosh on the wasted cake issue instantly, and instituted the cookie rule instead, meaning that in lieu of cake, a rather large chocolate chip cookie was always baked for my birthday parties. It’s no surprise that I didn’t have that many friends.

Barry’s essay, however, sparked something else in my imagination. What he had described in his essay was a human connection to food that was absolute and eternally loyal. Only a truly devoted individual would be able to make a commitment such as loving a food so much that he/she would be willing to eat it off a frozen squirrel. And that’s when my squirrel list started.

For those of you who know me, you understand the power that the statement “that is so good, I would eat it off a squirrel,” truly contains because, frankly, squirrels scare the bejesus out of me. I can tolerate the squirrels that live in the woods behind my parents’ house on Cape Cod because they mostly stick to themselves and their other squirrel friends. However, it was not unusual to see a rather surly and obese squirrel rocket out of a Skidmore College trash can carrying a whole bagel and perhaps the morning paper. Side note: Scrat, the prehistoric squirrel from Ice Age is based on the Skidmore College campus squirrels. Yes, this fact does come straight from Wikipedia and should probably be discredited, but the point is, these squirrels are not to be messed with.

What do you do when you find yourself in your twenties, a statistic of the economic depression, underemployed, overtired, and less than enthusiastic about what life is dishing out? You take any job you can get and you eat good food with friends. That is what this blog is about. It’s about an exceptional relationship with extraordinary food, but it’s also about several talented individuals who could change the world if someone would just pay us to do so (hey, food costs money, you know). But for now, we have decided that instead of just surviving, because that’s what we do daily in our professional lives, we can enjoy food in a way that makes the day deliciously worth toughing out. I hope that the readers of this blog will be intrigued by our recipes and reviews, learn to love food like we do, even be inspired to make their own squirrel list, and realize that in the midst of an economic wasteland, good food will save your sanity.

Jessica Spier