Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG), part of Gene Roddenberry’s science fiction series, was my favorite of the Star Treks. The TV series ran from 1987-1994.
Hello! Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Lt. Commander Data, Enterprise Computer — yes, she was a character — Q… and one of my personal favorites — Lieutenant Worf, K L I N G O N . Played by Michael Dorn.
I liked Worf’s stoicism. I liked his humanness, a gift from his foster parents… I liked his bat’leth. He wasn’t very lucky in love. Didn’t get a happily-ever-after. But he loved well, if briefly. And more than once.
Unfortunately, he had the eating habits of a… well, Klingon.
Blood Pie, anyone?
And that brings me to today’s post.
I know it exists, even if it isn’t mentioned in the TNG series.
I know it, for I surely ate some this weekend.
It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood — Thank you, Mr. Rogers — and so Mr. G, honey and I decided to bask in the glory that was the sun and cruise.
As one is want to do when cruising and glorying, we got a little peckish.
I decided to splurge on one of my fave deli sandwiches – classic corned beef on rye. To
make it a healthy choice justify the splurge, I made sure it was loaded with lettuce and cucumber and shaved carrots.
Let’s all eye-roll together.
But before I got to the corned beef and veggie fest, the counter guy prepping my sandwich slapped the rye of my choice on a plate and asked, “Regular mustard? Brown? Dijon?”
I have a happy face just for Dijon. If I’d been on the other side of the counter, we would have done a hip bump. My love for Dijon is that great.
Fast forward to our little table for two.
My taste buds are happy dancing. Here comes my corned beef feast on rye.
I took a big bite.
Holy Dijon, Batman!
That Dijon plowed a path through my sinuses, wreaking havoc right and left. It ricocheted off the back of my skull and shot straight into my eye sockets.
My eyes were tearing, throbbing, rolling around like marbles in a pinball machine.
I looked across the table at Mr. G, honey, who was watching me, and smiled.
And took another bite.
“Did you get the Dijon?” I said.
He grunted and took a big bite.
That Dijon plowed a path through his sinuses, wreaking havoc right and left. It ricocheted off the back of his skull and shot straight into his eye sockets.
His eyes were tearing, throbbing, rolling around like marbles in a pinball machine.
He looked at me.
Not with love.
I never saw Worf eat it on Star Trek. But I know, without a doubt, that it was on the replicator menu.
And it’s 10 parts horseradish to 1 part black mustard seed…