Growing up in a suburb of San Francisco meant that my childhood was different (in a lot of ways) than, say, the childhood of someone who grew up in Oklahoma. A childhood in Oklahoma can mean a lot of things – growing up in, say, OKC proper would be substantially different than, say, growing up in rural, southeastern Oklahoma. (I’m pretty sure there’s more noodling in southeastern Oklahoma. But I digress.)
When it comes to cuisine, California and Oklahoma are as fax machines are to watermelons … or as washcloths are to parakeets. (What I mean is: you can’t really compare them without sounding like an idiot. And I don’t mind sounding like/looking like an idiot if it’ll make you laugh. I’m available for parties, ghostwriting … wait, I’m off-track again.)
Here’s what happened: breakfast (which included biscuits and gravy) was catered in for an event in my office several weeks ago. I CASUALLY mentioned that I’d never had biscuits and gravy, and suddenly it was as though I had told my co-workers that I hated puppies and glitter and the sound of babies laughing. “You have to try it!” “How can you never have had biscuits and gravy?” “Who hasn’t had biscuits and gravy?” “How can a person get to your age and have never had biscuits and gravy?” Look, guys, I don’t know. And besides, I’m not that old, so I resent the last one. Secondly, bread and gravy all mashed together don’t really top my list when it comes to delicious breakfast foods. You guys know that bacon is a thing, right? The conversation extended to Facebook and Twitter, and after that I was done for.
The food editor at The Oklahoman (full disclosure: he’s a co-worker as well) was devastated at this revelation. Rectification was coming whether I liked it (nay, thought it was necessary) or not. I knew that the NewsOK video team was going to be joining us, but for some reason I thought it would stop with, you know, the online story.
How wrong was I? So, so wrong:
If I knew what our circulation was off the top of my head I’d tell you, but let’s just say my face hit hundreds of thousands of doorsteps. Ouch. (“Do I know you from somewhere?” “No. No you don’t.”)
Verdict? I think I’d still prefer an omelet. Perhaps a waffle.