A column that never really became a column

As young children, my mom never wanted us to use the word “hate,” because of its strong and negative meaning that, as youngsters, we probably wouldn’t fully understand. So my siblings and I learned to say that we “didn’t like” something instead. That worked for a little bit, until I realized there were things that I could truly hate.

One of those things is casseroles. I absolutely hate casseroles.

When we were growing up, my parents had this philosophy where each of us kids had to try everything set before us—twice. Yes, not one bite, but two. This mild form of torture was supposed to ensure that we weren’t letting our mind say we didn’t like something before our taste buds told our brain it really was okay. That was probably a good rule to establish, and I’m not a picky eater today thanks to this philosophy, but everyone in my family knows when it comes to casseroles, I really struggle to get my fork up to my mouth.

My mom is one amazing and talented cook, so thankfully, casseroles do not make it onto our dinner table very often. Most of my experiences with casseroles have been either at potlucks or friends’ houses.

It’s always amusing to see the variety of casseroles—chicken and rice casserole, chicken and pasta casserole, green bean casserole, tuna casserole, broccoli and cheese casserole—the list could go on and on about all these one-dish-mix-it-all-together-mystery-meals.

You may be wondering exactly what types of casseroles I hate. Basically, any combination of creamed soup, meat, veggies, cheese or bread crumbs that is then assembled into a Pyrex pan and left to bake itself to death in the oven, or “until the top is golden brown and the cheese is melted.”

I never understood why one would concoct such a meal. I’ve heard it’s a good way to use up all those leftovers from the week. In my family, we still eat leftovers, but never in the form of casseroles. I’ve also heard it’s economical. Well, I’ll leave that up to you to decide, but I think there are plenty of other food choices that would be just as appealing to the checkbook as they are to the palate. And then finally, I’ve heard it’s quick. However, zapping something in the microwave for a minute sounds much quicker to me than waiting for a casserole to bake an hour at 350 degrees.

But before you conclude that I’m simply and ungratefully rambling on about food I don’t like, believe me when I say that I’m thankful for all the food that is set before me—I’m just trying to find a way to be thankful for something that I hate so much. 





Kalyn Kinomoto
Column
Spring 2009