Mincing Garlic for Kicks!
Have you ever minced garlic? Mincing is a funny word right? That word “mince”. It’s simply a fancy word that means to “cut finely”. Mincing garlic is cutting it finely, to be exact. It’s an important step in a lot of recipes where you want the taste of garlic to stand out, but not the actual visual recognition of it. Now garlic might be considered overpowering in its raw uncut form, and only the bravest but strongest heroes attempt to eat it raw (and they reap the health benefits too), but the rest of us have to deal with the word mince and its uses. Now let me tell you a funny story about mincing garlic…
It was one of those rainy days when kids were home from school early, when my Mom decided to start heating up some food. The smell of the deliciousness clouded the dense cold air, and the whole kitchen seemed to smell like an actual restaurant- which was surprising, because it was the first time my Mom had taken to the kitchen, well, since I could remember.
“Whadda cookin’ mom?” I said.
“Some garlic with shrimp on pasta.”
“Yum, sounds delicious and I’m so hungry,” I said.
Just then my dad came in the kitchen. Likely you’ve never seen my dad, but he’s a giant man that is thick limbed with a bushy beard that only slightly manages to cover his hairy collarbone. My dad look like Santa Claus on steroids, despite his distaste towards healthful trends he loves garlic which has so many health benefits.
“Did somebody garlic?” my dad growled in his deep but happy tone of voice. His love for garlic is nearly legendary in our home town. Buddy’s at the pub chuckle behind his back when he leaves, and they say that the smell of garlic follows behind him in a lazy trail wherever he goes like he’s wearing a cologne called “Italian Restaurant.”
Even now the kitchen has begun to have an aroma of garlic that makes my stomach dance with delight. My dad’s one good eye swiveled towards me like some sort of tractor beam. “You hungry son?” Without waiting for a reply, he brushed off his hands on his faded blue shirt and dove inside the fridge. The image of a bear searching inside a hole or a beehive for honey came to my mind while I watched him deeply probe the fridge for more garlic.
Finally after a series of grunts and bellowed moans, he managed to find the pre-minced garlic my Mom had made to add to the shrimp and pasta (never mind that my mother was already cooking garlic for him to eat). With a triumphant grunt he pulled it out and held it up to me. For a second I could only marvel that his vocal dexterity lent him so many different sounds that all could be categorized into various grunts, but contain such a large vocal range and varied tone. This time the sound was of sheer success and glee.
“Let’s have minced garlic!” he chortled. My knees hit the bottom of the table and a large metallic clang echoed throughout the room.
I looked over at my Mom and her face belied true terror. She leapt away from the stove while nearly falling back into it, and then proceeded to dash through the kitchen up to her room.
When everyone regained control of their laughter, I posed a question. “Where’s the minced garlic at?” Everyone looked around curiously, and then looked back at my dad. The garlic had splashed straight up into the air and landed right on his head. Laughing hysterically, I said, well at least it is your scent! He laughed deeply too and we proceeded to spoon the garlic from on top of his head.