Sometimes the consequence is acquiring a cortege of back-patting sycophants whose adoration you can never quite trust. Other times, its discovering a mob of vocal opposers happy to tell you where to go.
However, there is one consequence that falls in the sweet spot between love and hate: The Practical Joke.
I suppose I opened myself wide with my firm declaration that canning jars are tragically inappropriate vessels for salad (and hillbilly substitutes for all other eating and drinking purposes). Certain friends could understandably not resist the opportunity for a little ribbing.
The set-up was innocent enough: A pot-luck dinner party.
The covert legwork of the conspirators included a private Pinterest board full of food-in-jar recipes and nonchalantly pigeon-holing me into the one of two menu item assignments that could not be made in a jar.
I arrived on the pre-appointed evening with my piping hot rolls. The table had been set, but the food was not yet out. Mason jars with straws and lemon wedges stood watch over each empty plate.
Okay. We're drinking out of Mason jars. It's cute. I can be a hillbilly for the evening. At least straws had been provided. I said nothing.
And then the main dish came out of the oven: a tray full of chicken cordon bleu-filled half pints. Something was up.
Quickly, four quart jars of SALAD were removed from the fridge. What the . . . !
"Surprise! We're having dinner in jars!" my friends exclaimed with the unadulterated joy that comes from weeks of planning and a secret Pinterest board.
Dessert, too, was in a jar.
There was a brief moment of confusion. A, "wait, so everyone was in on this?" realization that I'd been pranked in the most delicious way.
Dinner was divine.
Eating the moist, delicious chicken cordon bleu out of a jar was awkward, but doable. However, those who were not dab hands at using a knife and fork in tight spaces were happy to find the whole meaty-cheesy serving slid out of the jar and onto the plate in an upscale column that would have been right at home in a Michelin-starred establishment.
The sangria was delightfully refreshing and I started to wonder if the Hillbillies might be onto something. Drinking out of a jar has a way of making one feel decadently lazy.
The potatoes (not in a jar, but still important) were downright addictive. (Thank you Ranch Dressing Mix!)
The "dirt" parfait added a touch of chocolate whimsy to top off the meal. However my fingers did sustain slight collateral chocolating when my hand made contact with the rim of the regular-mouth jar while maneuvering the spoon to reach the last few bites. However the rare chance for grown-ups to eat gummy worms without our children hogging them all made up for any compulsory finger licking.
And the salad . . .
The salad was beautiful, but impractical and forthwith was dumped into a gorgeous salad bowl, with gently sloping sides and matching serving fork and spoon, where it was tossed with dressing—because salad should never be served in canning jars. Once in the appropriate bowl, the salad proved to be a revelation of fruit and feta, bacon and crunchy romaine. I would have eaten more if it had been physically possible.
|(Salad in jar for photo only—no salad was consumed in a jar for the making of this dinner party.)|
So, dear reader, I ask: Is it worth it to be opinionated about the hot trends that cross our collective path? To state boldly your views on the meaningless novelties that are more photo-op than life hack?
By the way, have I mentioned how overrated villas on Lake Como, Italy are? So. Overrated.