Speaking of life on other planets,
I realize this is probably just a reflection of my pathological
overeating, but for me, one of the biggest kicks about finding
a habitable world would be the massive expansion of our choice
in cuisine. We live, today, in a world with an embarrasment of
choice when it comes to food; a person could live a long life
and never come close to sampling all the dishes the various ethnic
and regional cuisines have to offer. But I'm not one to embarrass
easily. Unlike, say, Taco Bell (who is happy to forever rearrange
the same four ingredients into purportedly different dishes) or
many of my fellow Americans (for whom those four ingredients at
Taco Bell represent a rare departure into exotica), I want to
try everything, dishes containing okra or insects excepted. One
of the joys of living in Chic is the fact that its ethnically
rambunctious demographic makeup gives me the chance to sample
foods that were unavailable during my suburban upbringing. Find
me a country, a region, a tradition, or just a fat eccentric,
and I'll eat whatever they feel like cooking up.
So naturally, the idea of other planets intrigues me. What weeds could I find growing out of their distant varicolored soil that I could grind into powder and use to season a stew? What fat low-hanging trees could I plunder for a quick breakfast? What exotic far-flung fields might there be, heavy with "space-wheat" or some such thing I could make a decent loaf of bread out of? The possibilities make my heart race. And I would be dishonest, if tasteful, if I didn't mention that if this planet happened to have animal life, one of my first thoughts would be killing it, tearing it up and throwing it on my spacecraft's built-in Foreman Grill with some astro-garlic to see what it tastes like. Of course, I might be in for disappointment; the planet might feature nothing but the extraterrestrial equivalent of lemongrass, rhubarb and fried calimari. Or it might be inhabited by a race of intelligent beings who get their nutrition from soaking in an efficient but gross-tasting nutrient stew. Or worst of all, I might land on the Planet Of The Angry, Well-Armed, Murderous Lizard-People Who Are Downright Evangelical About Okra. But still, the possibilities haunt me.
Frankly, I'd hope to find
a planet with lots of life, but nothing intelligent. Admittedly,
this would rob me of a degree of culinary ease; I'd have to make
up my own recipes instead of just asking the locals to introduce
me to the local version of Julia Child. But it gives me another
opportunity that I'm crazy about: naming everything. In addition
to being a food-crazed maniac, I'm also a compulsive listmaker,
and the prospect of finding a whole planet of plants, animals,
places and things that no one has named yet is a little taste
of paradise for a geek like me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need
to fire off my resume to NASA. If they ever need a combination
nomenclaturist/saucier, I want to be the first on their list.
Quote of the Day: "I don't like 'gourmet' cooking or this cooking or that cooking. I like good cooking." (James Beard)