Retrosnark

You talkin' to me?

My son, Travis Bickle. He's healthy now, by the way.

Sorry for the painfully infrequent blogging, but I've determined something that, I think, may revolutionize the world. Turns out, having a child can really gum up any schedules or plans you have.

No, seriously. I know you're thinking, "There he goes again, trying to be funny." But a child really does change things. I'm applying for several large government grants to study the phenomenon, and to document my findings. Lobby your Congressional-type people today.

To resume my spotty blogging, here are a few selections from the Betty Crocker Cook Book for Kids, circa 1970-something. No publication date is given, probably to protect the people responsible for this book. The items aren't all that bad, until you remember that they were inflicted on children already scarred by Brett Somers and "Love, American Style."

Just to be sure your kid has OCD

"Okay, Evan, now that you've sliced the melon pieces into perfect triangles of a uniform width and height, you can place the tips on the points--each 72 degrees from its neighbors--that I laser-etched in the dish."

Not a lot of child-friendly fun to be had here, I'm thinking. If there were any residual fun left in the melon slices, they were demolished by being laid on a bed of lettuce.

If you can pull this off, you're Superdad

I am the reason God created computers. I am an unsuspecting, low-key, "Can't we all get along" kinda guy. But for some reason, when I'm given a project that involves any kind of intricate manual work, I suddenly transform into Gorilla Monsoon on an IV concoction of testosterone and Clumsipheron. (Ed. note: "Gorilla Monsoon"? Are there three people, including Mr. Monsoon's family, who know who he was in 2008 without Googling? And isn't the "ed. note" thing the mark of an uncreative hack?) (Reply to ed. note: Yes. No. Yes. Get out of my head.)

But that's not why you called. We're to discuss the totally coolicious banana split thingy contained herein. While it lacks the full-on, calorie-laden goodness of a real banana split, there's a minimalist beauty about the thing that makes me like it. Here's to you, Mr. Fruit-carving Dessert for His Kids Guy.

Craters: They're the new tapas

Maybe the experiences of having a new baby have dulled my senses or something, but I swear I've checked and re-checked this picture, and it's horizontal. Except it's not. Let's just say that, if the horizon seems to be lacking in horizontalness, just tilt your head like you're a dog hearing a squeaky brake pad, or any member of "The View" cast.

Now, onward. I'm still learning about having a child, but I'm already sure that attempting to serve something that looks like this, and is called "Crater Ham Loaf," is one bona fide way to ensure that the only way your progeny will henceforth visit the inside of a kitchen is if you glue Nintendo Wii coupons to the ramekins.

Cousin Oliver swears by it

See, Cousin Oliver was a...wait. If I really have to explain that, maybe you should be checking out some other, non-retro blog.

So, as I was saying, Cousin Oliver would have just eaten this up. It's cute, at first, just like Cousin Oliver was. But the more you look at it, the more eye-gougingly irritating it becomes, making you suddenly aware that the era you're supposed to be enjoying is so very out of touch and needs to be disposed of, post haste. Just like Cousin Oliver.

Besides, this is a cookbook. Isn't the whole thing a "cook's corner"?