Nothing like quoting the great Neil Diamond to start a post. It has been awhile. The break in blogging has not really inspired any new material. However, there are still things I have not discussed about my hospital stay so you are in luck.
One of the most discussed events of any hospital stay is the food. Some people love the food but most seem to find hospital repast to be below grade. Let me tell you, I know from below grade. I was extremely fortunate with my surgery. The breathing tube came out very quickly and before I even had a chance to worry about my diet, I was on solid food. Being Jewish, I requested Kosher meals and, to quote a popular Quebec expression, was quickly "accommodated".
Being drowsy and in a postoperative haze, I found the meals pleasing to the palette. As the epidural effect wore off and my taste buds reactivated, I found the meals to be not the best. This was not a surprising development as Virginia is an outstanding balabust (chef) while I enjoy my own simple cooking (think drowning all meats/poultry/marine life in various home made sauces).
My dissatisfaction continued until day 12 in the ICU. It was a Friday night and, appropriately enough, I was given brisket for supper. I do not posses the writing ability to describe meat that is "off", but this brisket was off the charts. It just tasted like a freezer. I could not eat more than 4 bites.Once again, I thought I was being picky.
The next morning my old friend Stephanie came to visit. She asked if I was getting Kosher meals. I replied naturally but expressed mystery as to their origin. Usually these meals come from a caterer who leaves his label on the box should you want to use them for any future party occasions. The only label on my meals was a stamp from an organization called The Jewish Community Council of Canada. Stephanie proceeded to pick up her jaw from the floor. She claimed that the organization had disbanded at least 5 YEARS AGO. Isn't that special?
She had to be joking. She must be confused. I psyched myself up for a tasty Saturday night meal. I opened the package to find a salmon steak. What could go wrong with salmon steak? As it turns out, plenty. You know the greasy black skin at the bottom of the fish? It was at one, completely indivisible from the rest of the salmon. How to describe the texture of the fish? Think of knocking on wood and that should give you an adequate idea of how the salmon felt and sounded.
I was done with the Kosher meals. I had regular hospital food the rest of the way and found it to be absolutely divine.