Food Snob

I have been accused on many occasions of being a food snob. I have mostly taken offense to it. I try to be an accepting, ope-minded person in all aspects of my life. Recently, I have come to realize and accept that, as far as food is concerned, I am a snob...and I am actually proud of it. I know food, I know what I like, and I am not afraid to express this opinion.

This past weekend, my sister-in-law, so sweetly, invited me to a Pampered Chef party. I had never been to one before, and I was really excited about it. I had heard that they are fun, and have great tools and cookware. Well, I tried to keep a positive attitude, but the poor Pampered Chef representative was infuriatingly lacking in epicurean knowledge, (and sales skills while I am criticizing her).

When we [guests/sales marks] walked through the door, we were informed of, the first of many, culinary atrocities. She had seasoned a whole chicken and put it in the microwave for 30 minutes. It was in a special dish, made to act like a crock pot in the microwave, but in my book, that does not make it okay. She then proceeds to ask us "raise your hand" question after question. I loathe these, I always refuse to raise my hand...(personal pet peeve). She wanted to know if we had good knives, a good can opener, a good garlic press (why, yes. It is called a chef's knife) etc. This question and answer session was the extent of her sales pitch. I suppose she thinks the food and products will sell themselves. They might have, but she forgot her recipe, and apparently has no idea how to really cook. On the day's menu was microwaved chicken, over a spinach salad. She managed to pull the recipe up, eventually, on her laptop. She then, was glued to it for the duration of the cooking demonstration. She wanted helpers, to chop. I got volunteered, because I am a pro. So, she hands me an onion and a chopper. One of those gadgets you put food in the bottom, and press the handle on top repeatedly until it macerates your product. I stood there a minute, not knowing what to do, before I ask for a knife. She hands me a paring knife version of a santoku. It is possibly the dullest knife I have ever used. I chop the onion, and resign myself to be a spectator, only. I watch as Pampered Chef lady fumbles around looking for missing ingredients. She insists her husband must have eaten them. She makes a salad dressing that called for freshly-squeezed orange juice and zest. She forgot the orange, so she uses the syrup from a can of mandarin oranges. This dressing now consists of fat-free mayo (which should not even exist), orange syrup, mustard and garlic. My inner snob is quivering inside my body. I glance at my mom and sister, I see it in them, as well. Another helper is called upon to assemble the salad. None of the produce gets washed. A bag of spinach is poured in the bowl, topped with canned mandarin oranges, my beautifully chopped onion, chopped celery, pecans and that wretched dressing. The microwaved chicken, was then shredded and placed on top. I have to admit, the chicken didn't taste too bad, but it was not quite cooked, and had a nearly slimy texture.

After this, I have an attitude. I try to hide it. I don't want to be "that" person at the party. I think about buying something, but I don't really want or need anything in the catalog. Then, I learned you have to pay shipping and wait 3 weeks before you even get your product, I decided to buy nothing.

I wanted to love this. I really did. I thought there would be a smorgasbord of delicious food, (I left very hungry) and an array of tempting gadgets and cookware. I was not tempted, just disappointed.