My sister and brother-in-law threw together a little last-minute party for the Peyton Bowl at their house. They cooked a few dishes and various guests brought along some food. The dinner and coffee tables together, covered with all kinds of foods, was quite an impressive spread.
Originally, I was going to write an in-depth analysis of gender-based perceptions with respect to food based on who brought what kinds of things to the house and what they chose to eat throughout the party.
Girls eat “girly” things like "brunch" and salad and fresh fruit and tiny tea sandwiches and pretty-in-pink little things that won’t defile the $31 French manicures that are wrapped around the fragile stem of a Champagne flute.
Wedge of Brie cheese with fancy crackers? Girls.
Cheddar and Pepper Jack Cheese Cubes? Guys.
My blog post was going to be a fascinating exposé of the gross gender-based flavor profiling that occurs in our society. It was going to be brilliant. I'd be thought of as "genius." Scholars and academics would praise me. I'd be on Oprah!
It all went to hell when my brother-in-law walked out of the kitchen with a frying pan to plate the rest of the quesadillas he had cooked while my sister, the rest of the girls, and I were face-down in a plate of sausages.
Besides, I think most of us are progressively modern enough to know that cupcakes are gender-neutral anyway.