I wasn’t here on Tuesday.  I apologize.  But here I am now.

Okay: I cannot compete with Maureen’s rhapsodic posts on food (though maybe, once our kitchen is finished, I will make an effort). But this week Avocado and I took a Spring break road trip to LA and Disneyland. I will not bore you with the details. Immense fun was had, crankiness and sore feet likewise; plus, we got to see my Cool Aunt Julie, and we stayed for a night in the UCLA Guest House (both my aunt and her husband are UCLA luminaries or luminaries-emeritus) among, as Avocado put it, “the Smart People.”

But that’s not what I’m here to talk about.

This is what I’m here to talk about. I’ve seen the thing (Green Eggs and Ham, with Who Cakes) in person, and it’s truly fearsome. The Who Cakes are particularly terrifying, even without the star-treatment lighting and food styling. A ziggurat of pancakes, topped with rather plasticky-looking blueberry and raspberry sauces, and a pink lollipop.

Avocado was horrified. “Who eats this stuff?”

And yet, there were children tucking in to this nutritionally null foodstuff with such gusto! And I started imagining the following dialogue:

Boss: Okay! So we finally landed a major tie-in! Horton Hears a Who! Big Hollywood, guys. I mean, we’re going to have kids clamoring for our hotcakes. All you gotta do is design it.

Chef: Design it? I don’t tie in food. The very idea is repugnant! (Okay, this is iHop; maybe the Chef doesn’t say repugnant. But that’s what he means.)

Boss: Did I mention you get a bonus if you come up with something sufficiently…Who-ish?

Chef: (sighs) What does Who-ish mean, exactly.

And within a week, the Chef returns with “Beezlenut Splash”, which is basically 7-Up with cubes of Berry-blue and Cherry Jello; with The Mayor’s Green Eggs and Ham (okay, this one sounds all right: scrambled eggs with spinach, and a slab of ham, plus those scary Who-Cakes), and Who-Cakes themselves, about which I have already written. There’s also “Jo Jo’s Breakfast, which is just a smaller version of the Mayor’s food.

The Chef, one presumes, gets a bonus. All parties are happy. And children everwhere dig into that plasticky blue-and-pink syrup. Eew.

Avocado and I split a dish of scrambled eggs, sausage, and your basic unaugmented pancakes and left sated. On the way out I saw another dish of Who-Cakes. They were still scary.