Category Archives: Lifestyle (MC Archive)

Lifestyle-related columns that appeared on Jason Menard’s previous Web site, Menard Communications.

Misrepresenting Chicken Wings? That’s Fowl!

Leave a reply

By Jason Menard

There are few foods as transcendent as the Chicken Wing. In addition to their simplicity of presentation and flavour, they are a supremely social food, as they are best enjoyed in a local establishment accompanied by friends, family, or both!

Over the years, I have travelled far and wide sampling some of this country’s best wings. I have plenty of experience built up in this quest – in fact, I’ve recently lost more than a few pounds of experience (too much of a good thing, I suppose.) The problem I’ve encountered is that rarely have these establishments offered what they promised.

You’ve heard the names designed to strike fear in the heart of the unknowing consumer: suicide, homicide, 911… all equally dramatic and all equally misleading. The concept seems to be that adding a violent noun to a piece of poultry will elicit a psychosomatic response that will make what you’re eating seem hotter.

An order of these wings is invariably accompanied by a quizzical look from your server and an “Are you sure?” comment that’s as welcome as that sprig of parsley. It’s inevitably followed by another comment that comes when the food finally arrives. It’s always some permutation of, “Good luck with that.”

Now, wings soliciting such reverence from the staff must obviously be worthy of the fear and awe they inspire, right? Wrong! All it does is build up false hope and increase the disappointment.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some wonderful wing establishments in this city that produce some tasty wings. I have brought my wife and kids (medium and honey garlic fans that they are…) to many of these places and we’ve enjoyed many a fine night of casual dining. But my search continues!!!!

Just this weekend, I went to a local watering hole and asked about the heat gradients and was told the usual litany, including suicide… but another was added to the list “Chef’s Challenge.” Hotter than suicide? This could be promising, I thought to myself… But, alas, the Chef’s Challenge was a misnomer – in fact, I was left wondering was I the one challenged, or was the chef?

So what makes a good hot wing? Any monkey can dump one of those industrial hot sauces on a wing and serve it up – but it would be inedible! They key is to combine searing heat and succulent flavour into a package that’s truly worthy of this sort of moniker! A wing needs to be plump, juicy, crispy, and with a flavour that resonates in the mouth. I’ve had single baked, twice-baked, double battered, bare, in fact any cooking style you can imagine, but the key to a memorable wing is in the sauce.

I’m not a masochist, but I enjoy spicy food. Eating hot is something I enjoy – it’s not a test of my manhood or a matter of pride. It’s also something that I know won’t last. Eventually, my stomach will have had enough and will revolt against the abuse I’ve heaped upon it for all these years. So, until that time, I want to get what I ask for!

Suicide, homicide, and their brethren need to indicate a heat level more than just one that’s discomforting to those who find tomato sauce a little racy, it needs to be truly awe-inspiring and palette-searing. As our world gets smaller, cooks are exposed to more and more ingredients, spices, and chills, at more affordable prices. The pallet of flavour is now limited only by our own imagination.

My search continues, but my stops along my road are poorly marked. One day I’ll find poultry Nirvana, but until then I make this appeal to our local establishments to adhere to truth in advertising. The majority of food out there is designed to cater to the widest spectrum of purchasers possible. Scan the grocery aisles and the foods labelled as hot barely contain any spice.

Our collective palette has become so dull that restaurants simplify their foods so as not to offend. It’s become so bad that I’ve been to restaurants that feature ethnic cuisine that’s known to be spicy, and it’s been watered down. When I’ve pressed to get “the real stuff” it has resulted in a trip to the back room and the comment “Well, when Canadians ask for ‘hot’ they don’t really mean it…”

We need to reclaim the individuality of food. We must celebrate diverse flavours and unique tastes! And I say it starts with the chicken wing. With this saucy delicacy let our appetites take flight!

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

My Daughter’s Pony Tail Has Me Tied Up in Knots

Leave a reply

By Jason Menard

I’ve interviewed Heads of State, I’ve survived Cuban customs, and I have weathered the stresses of weddings, moving, school, and work. I considered myself capable of succeeding at pretty much anything to which I put my mind – that is, until recently.

I have been defeated. And by my own flesh and blood. My insurmountable task? My two-and-a-half year old daughter’s hair.

That’s right, I’ve pieced together IKEA furniture despite the lack of a Rosetta Stone for their hieroglyphic-like instructions (and the inevitable missing or extra pieces that seem to have no home), but a simple pony tail falls outside the range of my capabilities.

It’s not for lack of trying. My wife has spent many moments stifling her laughter and offering (somewhat condescending) support for my efforts. My daughter has shown patience beyond her years in sitting there as I fumble along, my fingers suddenly moving as dexterously as a cow’s hoof.

This is just not a skill set that I’ve ever had to develop. I’ve always had short hair, and even my pathetic attempt to grow it out during my teen years only left me with an unruly mop that still wasn’t long enough to pull back. My almost 10-year-old son also has short hair, so that’s been a blessing in disguise to this point.

My daughter was even gracious enough to take longer than expected to grow her hair in, so I was granted a reprieve. But it finally happened, her hair has grown, and grown, and grown. In my dreams, my daughter’s beautiful hair turns into a Medusa-esque collection of snakes, hissing and mocking my inability to manipulate a ‘clippy.’ But, as always, my wife was there to bail me out.

Until recently. Off on a girls’ weekend away, she left me alone with my daughter. Before departing she generously put my daughter’s hair up – but that could only last so long. Eventually, she’d need to bathe, sleep, or just be a normal two-year-old and pull it out. And although I debated the merits of the Moe Howard look on girls, I knew my wife would kill me if my daughter went outdoors looking like she was on her way to an audition for the Mini-Pop Ramones.

So I bit the bullet. After her bath, after I dried her hair, I took a deep breath – and foisted her off on one of the neighbour’s daughters.

It’s amazing what the power of suggestion can do on a toddler. A simple, “don’t you like when [insert the older child of your choice’s name here] does your hair? You should go ask her to do it again!” No, it’s probably not the best example of parenting in the world, but I’d rather my daughter look like a little girl than like she should be ferrying a small keg of brandy around her neck in the Alps. I’m already barely getting by on colour co-ordination and matching outfits, so give me a mulligan on the hair!

Many of us go through various classes as we prepare for the birth of our children – but nowhere is there one on tying pony tails! And forget pig tails – I have enough problems with one, two might cause an aneurysm. Knowing what I know now, I’d pay any amount of money to attend that class.

And learning from my wife has proven fruitless. I’ve determined that it’s like when I watch those Italian game shows without the benefit of sub-titles – I get the gist of it, but the fine details are lost.

So what I’m left with is to implore all of you not for pity, but for understanding. Understanding not just for me, but for all those fathers out there. When you see us walking down the street, holding the hand of our shaggy offspring who’s braving the outdoors with a pony tail sticking out the side of her head or a dozen clips scattered haphazardly around her head, don’t point and laugh.

Our daughters have done nothing wrong but to put their blind trust in us – and our lumbering fingers.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Does Anybody Really Like Summer?

1 Reply

By Jason Menard

Let me start off by asking a favour of all of you people out there who spend all year professing your love for summer. Stop lying!

You see I’m married to one of you, and with the hotter weather here we’re in the midst of our annual seasonal battle – the ongoing war of the air conditioner. I’m sure many of you can relate to this friendly skirmish because I see and hear from sympathetic soldiers all the time.

My wife is one of those self-professed summer lovers. The problem is that as soon as the heat hits the air conditioner is set to Nuclear Winter. What I find pleasant in the house is insufferable for my wife, so the air conditioner is clicked on in the name of marital harmony.

Outdoors is no better. We hop in our air-conditioned car to drive to the nearest air-conditioned store or restaurant. And as I look around, I notice others in the same predicament as I – rushing desperately from their cars to the doors, only to emit an audible sigh when that door is opened and the first blast of air conditioned air hits them.

I’m a winter person, plain and simple. At least in winter, you can always put more clothes on, or bundle up. In summer, there’s only so much you can take off before you get arrested. I’d like to think that my opposition to air conditioning is as much out of environmental concern, but I can’t get that image of deliriously happy hydro employees rubbing their hands with glee as they watch the dial on my meter spin.

But I think my biggest problem with the summer is waking up to ‘The Mummy.’ And I know I’m not alone in this one (although I hope I’m the only one waking up with my ‘Mummy’, otherwise my wife’s got some ‘splaining to do…). Usually, I’m first to bed, so I trundle upstairs, shut off the air conditioner, and fall into bed – sometimes under a light sheet, other times not. However, each morning I awake to frost hanging from my nose as I shiver on my side of the bed. I look over to find my wife wrapped in two, sometimes three, blankets in a sort of slumber cocoon – and the air conditioner chugging away in the background.

And what does she say when I ask to turn it off? ‘It’s too hot!’ Now, that couldn’t be because of the linen womb she’s wrapped in, but who am I to judge.

Our society has become slaves to Freon. Walk down any street and instead of the sounds of birds chirping the ambient noise is supplied by the gentle hum of central air and window units. Of course, that would mean walking outside, which is so inconveniently non-air conditioned. But try it some time.

The heat dynamic isn’t just limited to one’s home life either. It can be found at work. Take a poll of your office, shop, place of business today, and out of 10 people you’ll find at least half who find the place too hot or too cold, while the rest are fine.

These alleged summer worshippers have developed their own lingo to justify their rejection of the summer heat. Phrases like, ‘It’s the humidity,’ or ‘this weather makes my hair curl’ are common place. Homes are essentially hermetically sealed to keep the forces of nature at bay.

What do we do about this? Do we institute thermal compatibility testing before granting marriage licenses? Should temperature endurance be a criterion for employers? I don’t have the answer – and with the dog days of August upon us the problem will only get worse.

I believe air conditioning has its place – especially when the mercury truly rises. But I don’t want to give up those moments when I can drive with my windows down, or revel in the cool night breeze that cuts through the day’s oppressive humidity.

Those of you who profess your love for summer, then spend it only in climate-controlled locations – stop fooling yourselves and pick a new season! If you love something, you’ve got to take the bad with the good. Personally, I’m counting down the days until the cooler weather arrives. And, at that time, if you see me listening with a smile on my face to someone complain about how summer’s too short, you’ll know why.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Following Our Children’s Lead

Leave a reply

By Jason Menard

It’s about time. Now it’s about time for the rest of society to follow the lead of our children.

The Thames Valley District School Board did the right thing last night, expanding its safe-school policy to include same-sex relationships. However, unless some parents follow the school board’s lead, it won’t mean a wet slap for our society as a whole.

There are parents and groups out there that believe this amendment will lead to schools promoting the gay lifestyle. Like homosexuality is an intellectual virus that once learned will lead to a Queer Eye for the Straight Kid makeover, causing mass Pride parades down the halls of our city’s elementary schools, and a run on Cher memorabilia for the under-12 set!

I’m sorry, but being gay doesn’t work that way. You either you are or you aren’t. I’ve been around homosexuals the better (and I mean that in every sense of the word) part of my life, and yet I remain staunchly heterosexual. You would think that this powerful homo-hypnosis people seem to fear would have, at some point, affected me, but it hasn’t.

Including the understanding of gay lifestyles in our young children’s lives can only broaden and enrich their lives. In the same way that children were once – and at times are still – ostracized due to their ethnic background or religious beliefs, an attitude of intolerance and fear exists in our schools that make it difficult for homosexual children to feel comfortable with themselves.

I thank my parents for raising me in an extremely tolerant household. They taught me to respect and appreciate people for who they are – not who they’re with or what they look like. But as soon as I stepped out of the door, I entered a world where such compassion for others – at least as it relates to homosexuals – rarely existed.

Whether it was in the locker room with my hockey team or on the playground with other school kids the words ‘fag’ and ‘homo’ were tossed around as common insults. Up through high school, people that would never consider using a racial epithet tossed around insults based on sexual orientation without a second thought.

And then we wonder why it’s so hard for gay kids to come out? As a youth, I considered myself tolerant and understanding, but to a homosexual kid did my words – in this case – speak louder than my actions?

I went to a high school with roughly 900 other kids – and none was openly gay. While I may not believe that one in 10 people are gay, I find it hard to believe that all 900 of us were straight. Our culture was just not one where coming out was a welcome option. And I know we weren’t the only school like that.

I had hoped things had changed, but earlier this year, my son – who’s been exposed to gay friends and family all his life – came home and told me that some of his schoolmates were making fun of gay people and saying that they’re bad. The culture of intolerance still exists.

We, as a society, need to view sexuality in the same light as we do race. The only intolerance should be an intolerance of discrimination. We live in a secular society, so religious beliefs should hold no sway over our societal responsibilities. Our Charter of Rights and Freedoms applies to all people, straight or gay.

And this decision isn’t about undermining parental rights. I’ve got two kids and they didn’t come with instructions for me to instill intolerance and hate. My parental obligations include preaching love, understanding, and acceptance of our differences.

Hopefully, considering the world we live in now, the Thames Valley District School Board’s decision will help make my obligations a little easier. But that can only happen if we all support its ideals. Kids truly do learn the most from their parents and if we preach intolerance, what do you think are kids are going to believe?

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Supersize It!

Leave a reply

By Jason Menard

Our super-sized world is shrinking, but it’s not only McDonald’s portions that are getting smaller – it’s also our ability to choose for ourselves.

The announcement that McDonald’s stores south of the 49 th parallel will be removing the super-size options on its menu adds yet another nail to the coffin that I hope our dear old friend Common Sense is desperately trying to claw its way out of. Of course, perhaps Common Sense has simply given up the fight.

I say, go the other way and make mega-sized fries. Mega, Gigantic, Enormous, Ultra Massive — use whatever hyperbolic phrase you can come up! Make a drink so large that it comes with its own diving board. I think McDonald’s should be allowed to do whatever it pleases with its menu. After all, no one’s forcing you to buy the larger sizes.

There’s where the problem lies. I’m not a McDonald’s fan, but I have eaten there on occasion. Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve never walked through the Golden Arches thinking that I was going to get a healthy meal out of the experience. And the same can be said for any fast food restaurant. I’m not going there for the health – I’m going there to satisfy some craving or another, and none of them are healthy.

But that’s my choice. As an adult – and as an adult making food decisions for my family – I should have the right to whatever food I want. It’s not like a militia of Ronald McDonalds drag me to the counter and stuff the food into my mouth against my will. McDonald’s food can only make you fat if you make the choice to purchase it and eat it to excess.

Our North American society seems to be moving to one where the decisions are made for us. Thanks to Janet Jackson’s nipple, many live broadcasts have moved to a time-delay on live broadcasts to prevent unsavoury material from reaching my sensitive eyes.

Excuse me? I’m supposed to allow some over-cautious television executive decide what is appropriate to watch? When did I abdicate my rights as a human to the concept of free thought? I have the best seven-second-delay mechanism at the ready at all times – it’s called a remote. If I don’t like certain programming, or find something that offends me, I have a bunch of other channels ready to court my viewing time.

And really, determining what’s offensive is a matter of personal taste. I personally find the mindless drivel and milquetoast humour that makes up Everybody Loves Raymond an assault on my intelligence. However, I’m pretty sure the guy with his finger on the delay button would feel pretty safe taking a nice half-hour nap if that show was broadcast live. On the other hand, certain shows that I find exciting and dynamic could give that same guy a Repetitive-Stress Injury on his trigger finger.

As a parent, I restrict the type of shows my children are allowed to watch. I don’t need a V-chip or blocking device – they’re only allowed to watch certain shows. Now, because I don’t feel a certain show is appropriate for my kids, that doesn’t mean the show should be pulled off the air. I don’t want someone else making those decisions for my family. My wife and I should make those decisions and its our job as parents to explain why we feel a certain way. God forbid we actually open up a dialogue with our children and engage them in free thought!

That’s the wonderful thing about being humans. The freedom to choose and the freedom to form our own opinions sets us apart from the world’s other animals. We live in a society that prides itself on these freedoms, but then we willingly allow others to tell us what to do, what to eat, and what to watch, and I can’t understand that.

So McDonald’s Canada please continue to super-size your meals, and I’ll continue to not buy them. And let live shows be truly live – if I’m worried about potential content, then I’ll simply change the channel.

But allow me the right to choose for myself.

2005 © Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved