Potato Salad. What’s the first thing you think of? Pot lucks. Family Reunions. Spanish Moss. Barbecues. Exactly!
Therefore, when I went to a barbecue last weekend, I brought with me potato salad.
I was in Jewel looking at the deliciously average prepared food and thinking to myself, “Gee, this would be good for my dear friend’s barbecue.” As I grabbed the tub of the mustard/mayo/potato/taste kamikaze, I imagined people’s eyes lighting up, “Bridge brought potato salad! How incredible! And forks? Oh Dear, I feel like the prodigal son! What have I done to deserve such culinary averageness?”
After all I've done, dad? The potato salad? I am blessed.
The opposite happened.
I arrived at Hollywood Beach, plopped myself down onto the grass and pulled from my bag the beacon for barbecue happiness. And guess what? No one even looked, so much as shook my hand and praised me for my wonderful taste. They simply looked away.
After offering it, slightly over 20 times to whomever met my gaze, my friend said with a scoff, “Um, hasn’t it been sitting in the sun for like, a half an hour?” NO! (yes.) But still! Mayo doesn’t kill you. It makes you stronger. I’m sorry I didn’t bring the organic pico de mango de gayo from Whole Foods in a sun-censored container that if left in the park would turn into it’s own compost and sprout a tree native to the mid-west. It’s just friggin’ potato salad.
And so I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. Potato salad is the new white-trash item that no one eats anymore. It’s like jello molds or fruit cakes or powdered milk. These food items are slowly being phased out of our culture with fates similar to figgy pudding, game hens and Tab.
To conclude: I felt bad throwing away this giant tub of potato salad and so I offered it to a homeless man.
He looked at it quizzically, looked at me and said, “Has this been sitting in the sun for like, over a half an hour?”
Ok. Fine. I get it.
