Slops is a word I invented to mean sloppy. When drunk, when eating, whenever. I am such a slops person, in general. Get it? It has been said, in scripture, (I’m still riding the Passover Seder wave) that I am a slob. I have admitted to wearing my food on many occasions. Egg yoke at The Breslin is just one recent example. It runs in my family. My dad is a sloppy eater and his dad, my grandpa (may he rest in peace) was the sloppiest! King of the slobs. Every shirt he owned was stained in the same place. Right in the middle where his belly made a shelf where a 4 course meal could just sit and chill. My grandpa’s seat was always covered with a napkin before he sat, yet he inevitably stained the poor chair before the meal ended. Things shift, you know? He also wore a napkin tucked into his shirt. This was his signature look. For his funeral, he was buried in his very favorite suit complete with all the lovable stains. I accept that being a messy eater is part of my genes, so I embrace it and even joke about it because laughter is the best medicine, besides pain killers.
Here’s a guy who took wearing his food to an extreme:
Preztel warriors wear their ammunition for convenience, protection, and in case they get hungry. Carbo-load there buddy! Brilliant!
I will make my pretzel belts and wear them tomorrow.
(Picture stolen from Wasabi Prime, one of the blogs I follow!)