I used to have an easy answer if someone asked me, “So, what do you do?” I was a comic. Just two syllables–pointed, like a killer comedy bit. Now, it’s not so easy. Now that I'm not performing a lot, I either have to be way too broad, saying “I’m a writer,” which ALWAYS leads to the followup question, “What do you write?”, and we’re back to square one. But it always seemed a little precious to get too specific, and, “I write short humorous essays, sort of like the newspaper columns they used to have but on the internet, and in the first person, but not like in a blog”  is really a conversation stopper.

Years ago I dreamt of being a newspaper columnist, and by ‘dreamt of,’ I mean ‘didn’t do anything to pursue the idea.’ But I always loved the notion of gritty newsrooms, with reporters scurrying around the city desk wearing fedoras and carrying flasks of booze. OK, apparently I dreamt of being a newspaper columnist in the 1940s.

Point being, with newspapers on life support, I do my columns online, but usually online writing is called a blog, and that’s not really what I do…Blog, column…I got it! I could call what I write a ‘blogumn.’  Sure, it’s a little Tolkeinesque, but haven’t you always thought there should be more words in English that end in ‘mn?’

I think about what to call what I do, because it’s all about branding. I realize I’m supposed to write for the love of the craft, and that I should be totally true to my core. Guess what. My ‘core’ wants to sit on a couch with a joint and watch “Men of A Certain Age,” but I’m not sure that’s ever gonna pay my half of the rent.

What you choose to call something matters. Take rock and roll. Some bands seem to use up all their cleverness on their names. Now, some bands at least had the sense to rethink the issue. I think even hardcore fans of the Golliwogs, My Backyard and The Polka Tulk Blues Band would have to admit that Creedence, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Black Sabbath are better band names. However, I’m pretty sure that Air Supply would have sucked no matter what they would have chosen to call themselves.

Same deal with food. There are certain foods that I’m convinced wouldn’t sell at all if they had different names. Or at least accurate names. If you’ve had beignets, you know they’re a delicious filled pastry popular in New Orleans. But I’m guessing the lines at Mardi Gras would be a bit shorter if they were called “Deep-Fried Dough Balls (which should be a band name).”

oddly enough, it's not the picture--the food was actually blurry

Sometimes all it takes is a vaguely continental name to distract millions of people into buying an otherwise odious food. Case in point:  ‘Vienna Franks.” These little Franken-franks are composed of a disturbing paste made from chicken/pork/beef/turkey…parts, and stuffed in a can in some sort of briny…sauce? Juice? Anyway, even though I KNOW they’re already cooked, they always look to me like they need to be cooked again. That seems wrong.

Leave it to the gastronomically-challenged Brits to come up with a food idea that sounds iffy when it’s described, and then give it a name that sounds even more abhorrent. Bad enough you people serve steamed suet pudding–for God’s sake do you have to call it ‘Spotted Dick?”

Call me square, but I like the name of a dish to give me some indication of what might be in the dish before I order the dish. Recently voted the best restaurant in the world, Noma in Copenhagen  has an entrée called ‘Oyster and the Ocean,’ and I call ‘Bullshit.’ See, I’d need to know exactly what comes with that oyster, not just where you got it, Søren. Same reason I wouldn’t order “Chicken and Stuff From The Ground.”

I dig those long, enigmatic, conceptual names you see on menus in Chinese restaurants. “Ants Climbing A Tree” may not sound as appetizing as ‘marinated ground meat over noodles,’ but at the same time, I kinda like having my dinner tell me a little story. And “Bean Curd Made By A Pockmarked Woman” is so evocative it should count as dinner AND a movie.

I never know what to call the things I cook, but I feel I have to call a dish something. It always seemed lazy to me for an artist to call a painting ‘Untitled.” When you’re done with your painting, take the extra five minutes and tell me what I’m looking at. It doesn’t have to be literal, but at least make an effort.

When I do try to name a dish, in case I want to recreate it, I’m usually too literal. I think that’s because, I figure if the name  of the dish contains enough details, I’ll remember how I made it. But The Girlfriend has yet to ask for my Tortilla Crusted Spinach Topped Curried Chicken Thighs, so I’m thinking I need punchier names.

Sometimes I try to be too clever. We had small burgers on English muffins a while back, which I now insist on calling ‘Picadilly Sliders.’ It hasn't caught on. And I’m always stymied by ground turkey. Not the concept. I mean, what to call the finished product.

Every time I start to improv with a pound of Jennie-O (which sounds like a creepy double-entendre), I end up with meatloaf. Once, I got ambitious and made a turkey roll, and it looked perfect, all, roll-like… I put it in the oven, and when I took it out, it had settled and flattened and become yet another meatloaf.

So, I finally got creative. The next time I made a meatloaf, it was fairly conventional, but I made it in a square casserole pan like you’d use to bake a cake, put a thin layer of mashed potatoes in between two layers of meatloaf, and topped it with two kinds of crumbled up crackers. I call it “Double Crumb Comfort Cake.” It’s fun to say, plus it’s got a built-in slogan for marketing–”Sounds like dessert, but tastes like dinner!”