See what the dog brought up!


So what's the deal with jellied salads? I didn't like them when I was young. I was forced to eat 'just a spoonful' and was told knowingly that I'd grow to like them with time. I remember them back in Winnipeg when I was small - most particularly the evolving configurations of Tomato Aspic - appearing regularly like successive incarnations of the Buddha at church suppers and family events. They were still on the table when we first moved to Victoria, B.C. in 1965 - glorious 'oeuvres' in scarlet, green, pink or dappled grey. And then nothing. *Poof* - they went out of style, or were declared 'infra-dig' by the leading women's magazine. They disappeared.

It was the sixties. The Summer of Love was just around the corner and there was no place anymore for the formality of these compositions - for bits of egg, meat or marshmallow suspended in a product which was meat-based but, please - made from what bit of the beast, exactly?

One wonders if there's not a prejudice against mixed things - the laws in the Old Testament proscribe garments made of mixed materials. American television is still remarkably coy about portraying the relationship of couples across the colour divide - even after the changes of the last 40 years. Recordings of a saxaphone playing baroque favourites just don't sell.

For my part, I never liked jellied salads simply because there were all these 'bits' and they were never frankly one thing or t'other. Children prefer stories with predictable endings. Try changing a predictable ending the next time you're reading to a small child. Listen to the protests. They detest ambiguity.


At the table, they are forever holding up a bit of food on their forks and asking 'what is this'? and 'do I like it'? Before they risk a taste they want to know which category it belongs to. We pretend that children maintain a natural openness to new experiences but that's a load of old bollocks. The child's question at table is that of a rigid purist.

Those of us who are old and compromised - we take ambiguity as a matter of course. We'll never be able to proclaim our purity and excellence in any one thing so we might as well empty the fridge of any leftovers not crowned with green fuzz and plunge them into goop and serve them up to our relatives.

When it comes to the shocked expression on the face of the wee boy looking at this wiggling green tower, we can only sigh:

"Just wait kid. One day, when the wife has left you and you've been overlooked for promotion and your knees don't work any more, you'll be scarfing down that stuff as if it were your last meal!"