The Splendid Gag

I listen to public radio's Splendid Table more from a sense of thrilled disgust than from any lip-licking interest. The show's host, Lynne Rossetto Kasper, does love her food, but some of the recipes that that woman comes up with are more gag-worthy than inspired. Pine nut and chili bundt cake, anyone? Or how about some nice olive oil gelato? Mmm, goes down so smooth. More coffee? Let's just say, I wouldn't be saving room for dessert at Lynne's house.

Even by her standards, though, yesterday's broadcast was a stomach-churning whammy. First, she interviewed the authors of a new book titled, "What We Eat When We Eat Alone." I thought of my English muffin pizzas, my shaken-not-stirred Dannon yogurt. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that I slice into triangles, when I'm feeling particularly ambitious.

I wasn't ready for the whispered confession of margarita mix poured over potato sesame bread; leftover spaghetti and salad sandwich, or canned sardine juice over cottage cheese. (What sane person would admit to that?) By the end of the segment, my own romaine heart, ketchup and feta cheese salad was sounding positively gourmet. I considered calling in, though, with my own go-to vomiting solution, of a yellow gummi bear speared on the end of a fork and dipped in Italian vinaigrette. (Picture a speck of basil quivering on the end of a glistening paw.)

I was spitting out reflux when Lynne started in on the phone lines. One inquisitive caller wanted advice on savory birthday desserts. He likes to surprise his girlfriend. Last year, he made something that looked like a layer cake, but wasn't. Surprise! All I could make out over the sounds of my own retching was something like warm cornbread swirled with tomato paste and frosted with whipped cream. Frosted. My mind flashed on the layered tuna fish, white bread and mayonnaise-frosted Frankencake I'd stumbled across in some long ago children's book. The horror resonates still.

What is it with reinventing the wheel? There are ingredients--chocolate and raspberry, say, or strawberries and cream--that work together. And there are others--capers and lychee, for example, or pine nuts and applesauce--that shouldn't share the same shelf space. Of course there is room for experimentation and whimsy. But The Splendid Table's tiresome combinations of incompatible ingredients, tossed together for sheer shock value--of this, I've had enough. Until next Sunday, that is. There is something titillating about revulsion, after all.