From My Squalid Kitchen, Episode 4: Goofball with Tahini “mayonnaise”

Dealing with goofballs requires the

ability to mix tahini with water, garlic, something sour, like oneself, and some ” ‘erbs”, and maybe a bit of emotional intelligence.

NB.  In the video I say, ” ‘Vegan mayonnaise’ is a contradiction in terms because it uses eggs.”  By “it” I mean real mayonnaise uses eggs – this recipe does not use eggs and is completely vegan and so is the “humble” meal.

By “humble” I mean a meal by someone who is resentfully, angrily poor and would really rather be eating Chateaubriand for two, by himself, with maybe some Bananas Foster or Crepes Suzette for dessert before driving off, in his Lincoln Continental with opera windows, to the porn shop for some desperate and anonymous, yet public, video booth sex with a few strangers.  Just wanted you to be clear about the vegan-ness.  If it means so much to you, ask an actual vegan, OK? (@you.)

This is also the infamous “sniffing” episode, where, having been awakened via goofball, I find myself spontaneously creating an episode before realizing I’m very very sniffly. Once you’ve watched it countless times in rapt admiration, you’ll stop noticing the sniffs, just like Torontonians no longer notice the overhead streetcar cables, anyone named “Ford”, or the fact that we’re really not New York City because our only “culture” consists of stage musicals based on TV shows, and poutine, which is in fact from Quebec, but we think it makes us look awfully à la mode.

Oh yeah, and Alice Munro.

Alice Munro, one of the two or three greatest writers of fiction now living, is Canadian. She won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2013, and I imagine she must have an awards room, the way Imelda Marcos has a separate building for her shoes, so many has she received.  So you could say, without much fear of contradiction, that Alice Munro is no slouch in the writing department.

The other day I asked someone if he liked her stories, and he said, “Who’s Alice Munro?”

If this were Japan, Alice Munro would be like Mount Fuji, or the person who invented life-sized sex dolls.  She would be made a “Living Treasure” and would be revered “by young and old alike”.  We would all be proud of her because we would have read all her stories, and made stage plays out of them, and have Alice Munro T-shirts, and we would realize she caught a particularly Canadian angle on life that was as subtle as Chekov, also as funny.

On the day the Nobel Prize was announced, a national celebration would have occurred. Children would have been given the day out of school; working men and bankers and those down on their luck, and all of their wives, and their bosses, would have a holiday, too.  Munro would be the centerpiece of a grand parade, with her own float; little girls dressed in white would have thrown flowers at her as she passed by.

That evening, after the fireworks display, she reads her latest story, broadcast nation-wide.  The audience listens in enthralled silence; children are told, “You’ll remember this when you grow up!”  At the end of the story, even grandfathers wipe the tears from their eyes; women weep openly.  Then, a great roar of appreciation and hats in the air.  Our greatest living writer!

When she appeared in public in her kimono we would rush up to her giggling and prostrate ourselves, and she would laugh and say, “Who do you think you are? Arise!”, and when she passed on, which could be like, tomorrow, because she’s really old now, we would go into mourning nationally and cry uncontrollably and be given time off work to deal with the trauma.

But this is Toronto, where we have to say things like, “The Arts generate a lot of money! That’s why they’re important!”  in a really chirpy voice while everyone rolls their eyes then looks back at the latest stock prices.

So really the main thing to ignore about the sniffing is the hygienic implications.


When is an apology not an apology? 1. when it is made by a goofball. 2. when it starts, “I’m sorry for what I did but – you MADE ME!”

Simply purée your goofball with your Cuisinart Smart Stick – you’ll never regret it!