squeezil

i kept cracking myself up the other night at work, thinking about the episode of anthony bourdain: no reservations when he's in vietnam and they tell him that the animal he's eating is "squeezil" (it turns out to be a porcupine): in my mind, it's become a kind of emblem of undeliciousness, which i imagine looking like the long-snouted stuffed animal i won for my sweetie on the boardwalk at seaside park a coupla yrs ago. tonight my middle dtr brought her niece over for dinner and i was reminded that to my granddaughter, all of the food at my house is like squeezil. the bread is hard and even the orange juice has pulp. i've got to remember to buy a bag of frozen chicken nuggets. and maybe a loaf of mrs. baird's to keep in the freezer.