Photos Source: Google.com
I truly believe that after you have been a vegan for a while, and when I say a while, I mean at least a year not, say for example a fucking week, you start to notice the effects processed foods have on you. That is, if you’re so inclined to take a nibble of something from your non-vegan past. Yesterday afternoon we had a farewell party for an executive. A football field sized cake was ordered and set up in the conference room. Due to the fact everyone I work with knows I used to be a pastry cook, questions ensued about the frosting. I told my colleagues, judging by the looks of it, it is probably ghetto frosting.
Ghetto Frosting?
Yes. You see, *ghetto frosting* is a term I learned from a pastry chef I had worked for. All of her cakes were a work of art and it would have been complete sacrilege to frost her creations in anything other than butter cream or that nasty shit, otherwise known as fondant. This particular chef only worked with either of those two mediums. When I told her I hated butter cream frosting (because I hate the taste of raw butter) she looked at me with the side of her eye and said, “Oh, you’re one of those… You must like ‘ghetto frosting’.” Wiping the water from behind my ears (i.e. still a freshman in the pastry trade) I said, “Ghetto frosting????” [Tilting my head to one side]. She said, “You know, Crisco and sugar?…” My face lit up. I smiled and said, “YES!!!!! I love the ghetto frosting. Mmmmmmmm!” I believe, at that moment, the earth shifted under my feet and going forward from that day on, the chef forever looked at me with a certain level of disdain. I’m sure she thought of me as white trash.
Most of my immediate co-workers are familiar with the term ghetto frosting because they have worked alongside me for the past 2 years, at least in this department anyway. However, every now and then I will meet someone in the office who has never heard me use that term. Due to the number of attendees at this particular party, the room was rife with unfamiliar faces. Without preamble, I began to explain what *ghetto frosting* means (fucking noobs).
As with any gathering, there is always one or two people in the presence of your greatness who will challenge anything you say, despite the fact you have REAL PROFESSIONAL FUCKING EXPERIENCE. One woman exclaimed, “Nooooooooooo, you’re wrong, this is butter cream.” I shook my head and said, “No, it isn’t.” Another said, “I bake all the time this is definitely butter cream.” Meanwhile, my devoted disciples were cheering from my corner saying, “Susan would know… if she says it’s ghetto frosting, it’s ghetto frosting!” Now, don’t think for a second that proclamations such as these will deter the Little Miss Know-It-All in your presence. You know the type I speak of. They preach from their armchair of life taking an all-knowing stance about everything.
Sigh.
Irritated I walked over to the cake, picked up the fork and proceeded to scrape a 2 inch thick gob of frosting off of the cake (including a rose) and shoved the entire contents into my mouth until my cheeks were bursting like Alvin the chipmunk. I turned to the naysayers, swallowed the artery clogging confection, licked my lips and said, “Yep, it’s fucking ghetto frosting, as I suspected.” And walked out of the conference room shaking my head. Now keep in mind I am a vegan and have been for the past 2 years so eating stuff like this isn’t part of my daily repertoire. About 10 or so minutes later, while sitting at my desk, I began to break into a cold sweat. I felt jittery. My eyes were starting to go in and out of focus and my heart raced… at that moment I blurted out (to no one in particular), “Ummmmmmmm, I don’t feel so well.” My co-worker who sits in front of me said, “It’s no wonder, you did just eat an entire forkful of ghetto frosting.” I said, “I know! Who knew it would have such an effect on me. I mean, holy shit I think I’m about to die. Listen, if I drop dead tell the paramedics what I ate would you please?”
What was in that ghetto frosting anyway?…
😐
Girl for Animal Liberation 