God created zucchini

When God created zucchini, was He was playing a monumental joke on humankind in giving us a bland, tasteless, mushy-feeling omni-present veggie?

I believe the creator hoped to watch our expressions as we attempt to down that slick food that’s so prolific it ought to be named “rabbit.” Someone should write a book and title it, “How to Stop Growing Zucchini and Rabbits.”

Last week, a friend offered me a pair of those mystery squashes. I was on my way to a Lobo football game just then and placed the zucchinis on the dashboard of my car as we headed for Albuquerque.

My friend and I left the squash on the dashboard, along with our two Lobo tickets, our admission to the game. We were at the entrance when we discovered our error and ran back to the car, parked in Lot No. 6721 or 6722 — I don’t exactly remember.

In the time that we were gone, someone broke into our car. We found that two more zucchinis and two more Lobo tickets had been placed inside our car. That should teach us to be more careful.

That incident came to me as I read over Editha Bartley’s column, Palabras Pintorescas, last week. Along with ranch discussion, Editha included a recipe for quiche, provided by her daughter.

If we follow the advice of Bruce Feirstein, we men shouldn’t eat quiche (pronounced keesh). His best-selling book of the ‘80s was titled “Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche,” and who am I to argue?

Isn’t quiche some kind of pie-like concoction with eggs and lots of baked green stuff? But before writing another word, let me explain that this is not a criticism of Editha’s daughter’s preferences; rather, it’s more of a commentary on my own picky dietary quirks. Yes, I’ve eaten quiche — usually at church potlucks — where it seems all the participants bring quiche, or else one of many zucchini creations. But let me move on.

Even for a real man, the recipe appeared tempting. Editha tacked her daughter Sherry’s recipe to her column, which discussed farm matters, horses, hay and other aspects of agrarian life.

Toward the end of the column, Editha wrote: “That is all there is to it, and it is a great addition to every menu.”

We’re fine so far with that, but the following sentence tries to entice us with something else.

Editha writes, “Hay bales and quiche just out of the oven signal the start of fall. Winter can’t be far behind.” Even for a real man, who shouldn’t eat quiche, that recipe looks infinitely more palatable than the “hay bales … just out of the oven.”

I try not to be a neighsayer, and I don’t wish to stirrup dissent, but hay, I must vote “neigh” on consuming the fresh-out-of-the-oven hay bales. I believe Editha’s equestrians would enjoy that warm treat more than we. Or hooffully there are neigh-bor horses manely desirous of that warm oven-baked treat. I hope that saddles the issue and that common sense reins.

• • •

A fairly new addition to Las Vegas’ restaurant scene is a buffet on Mills, near BTU. There’s a generous salad bar with desserts, as well as a main-menu table with a variety of entrees.

The place is Hernandez Farms. The cost is reasonable, and there’s a discount for seniors, military and law enforcement personnel. I like the convenience of a hot meal and a salad bar.

After a workout at Wilson Complex, it’s great to fill up on their all-you-can-eat offerings. The couple that manage the restaurant are Christopher Hernandez and Jolene Archuleta.

Each time we go there, we notice an increasing number of customers. My favorite feature, in addition to their regular entree of just-right red chile enchiladas, is the convenience of having food already prepared, saving customers time.

• • •

Last week I used an expression, “We at the Optic think in headlines, their being our preoccupation.” Reader Niki Sebastian begged to differ, positing that I should have used “they,” not “their.”

So I asked readers to officiate. Richard Lindeborg, a former Washington speech writer, and John Geffroy, a retired professor, sided with Niki, using terms like “gerunds” to bolster their case.

I should know better; I once owned a pair of gerbils, but that doesn’t make me an expert on gerunds or grammar.

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