We had asparagus and butternut squash risotto last night and it was delicious, if I say so myself. I was forcefully reminded of the asparagus when I got up to pee because, man, does asparagus ever make my pee stinky. R Man has forbidden the tasty, tender green stalks from our dinner parties because he’s concerned that I will turn my stinky pee into conversation fodder for the table based merely on the fact that I have done so in the past. Also that beets turn your pee pink, but that’s another vegetable and another story.
Part of the wonder of the internet is that there is no subject so obscure that you can’t track it down. A quick googe this morning on “asparagus pee” turned up the fascinating revelation that while everyone suffers from this noxious condition (once again showing all sons of men are brothers) not everybody can smell it. One assumes only the more delicate and sensitive among us are fated to suffer so. Like me.
I just love the idea of some researcher somewhere holding up a test tube of asparagus pee, doubtlessly collected under rigorously controlled conditions, to some subject and asking “Does this stink? On a scale of 1 to 10 how much would you say it stinks?”
Why on earth would stinky pee turn into dinner party conversation? Because I’m the host and I’ll talk about anything. If it crosses my mind, it crosses my lips. Fortunately, our guests tend to be good sports and go along with it, although god knows what they have to say about the whole experience on their way home later. But someone has to make the conversation move along or else we dissolve into the cost of real estate and grousing about Bush, both of which are requirements in San Francisco entertaining.
I inherited my sainted mother’s ability to chatter aimlessly; I open my mouth and hear her echo coming out. The foundation of a thousand thousand bridge parties, it may not be profound, but it certainly is handy. Small talk is social lubrication. Plus, an important part of my job is going to business functions and standing around making chat with complete strangers. Whenever I’ve gotten through another one of these nattering marathons, I bless my mother. Although, I’m pretty sure she was too much of a Lady to discuss asparagus pee. Maybe.