TASTE OF THE SENATE: DEEP-FRIED OREOS

First The Drugs, Then Nasty Steaming Treats

HIGH LIFE: I can't find an Onion Blossom at a bar that used to serve 'em
nightly on the airport strip. French-fried onions are fad food nostalgia, I
complain to the guy on the next stool. Turns out he's the drug dealer to
the Canadian Senate.

"Prozac, Celebrex, uppers, downers, Viagra," he shrugs. "One-stop shopping.
You think it's an accident our senators think pot is OK? That they're so
fat and happy?"

In his business suit, red tie and goatee, this dude looks like a civil
servant. He's the devil in disguise, waitin' for the next RapidAir Ottawa
shuttle. I don't ask what's in his briefcase.

"I guess we should have suspected the Senate was toasted," I agree, trying
not to seem surprised. "Basically, senators wake up from time to time, bark
a few words that make sense only to them, then go back to sleep again.

"Even for freeloaders, they seem to have way too good a time."

Get The Munchies

"Yeah," their official druggist nods. "I get 'em what they need. They don't
have to keep disappearing out to the car with a pal, or come back giggling.
There's none of that whisper-in-the-kitchen stuff when you're a high
mucky-muck pothead in the red chamber. Just raise your hand. I'll be there."

"Do senators beg pages to bring 'em cheesies and chips after a good doze?"
I ask. "Do they get the munchies when they wake up?"

"Bud, you've had two beers and you're lookin' for a deep-fried onion," he
says. "If they're conscious, Canada's senators demand snack kink. It would
shock you. The chemical cocktail in their systems demands the kind of nasty
steaming treats you never see on Iron Chef."

"Like?"

"Senators want the deep-fried Oreo," he says. "Hotter than Krispy Kreme at
fall fairs in the States. Ordinary Oreo cookie, dipped in batter, popped in
the fryer. Hot, crispy, chocolate crunch and oozy vanilla. Addictive. Bet
you can't eat just one."

"I hope you're hallucinating," I shudder, trying not to remember the dark
night of the soul I ate an entire package of Oreos by myself, and chased it
down with a box of Girl Guide mint wafers. "Who'd fry an Oreo? Isn't the
whole deal with an Oreo pullin' the two little wafers apart perfectly -- so
all the white stuff is on one wafer?"

"The deep-fried Oreo is related to the deep-fried Twinkie and the
deep-fried candy bar," the Senate pusher says. "At fairs they freeze the
Twinkie, dip it in batter, deep fry it, roll it in powdered sugar and cover
it with chocolate sauce. Some senators ask for butterscotch."

"I feel so out of it," I grump. "The snack food industry is leaping
forward. I'm stuck in the past. Looking for Awesome Blossoms. And me, the
guy who invented Parmesan cheese popcorn. I blame Cajun Pringles."

"You cannot make drugs or decent snack foods at home," the Senate dealer
says. "Try it and your deep-fried Twinkie will be too mushy. The man who
invented Beaver Tails knew that. Can't be duplicated."

"True enough," I agree. "I bought that razor-edged onion blossom chopper I
saw on late-night TV. It made perfect petals and severed fingers. I could
never get the batter to stick right. Even the worst bars could serve a
perfect battered onion. I couldn't."

The bartender brings us a nice plate of deep-fried pickles and poppers --
deep-fried jalapeno peppers, battered with cheese inside. But no exotic
cookie or Twinkie. Fried pastry has not yet landed.

"Many years ago, the Japanese realized you could cover anything in batter
and people would eat it," says my new Senate connection. "Would you rather
have deep-fried calamari or disgusting squid rings? Sliced raw sea slugs as
sushi or crispy what-is-it sea slug tempura?"

"I'd rather have a Monty Python Frog Spring Surprise," I offer. "They
laughed when the comedy troupe proposed a chocolate-covered frog treat with
coiled spring inside. Obviously, a snack food whose time has come. We shall
live to see it at the CNE, midway and John Downing willing."

"Hmm, frog spring surprise," muses the dealer. "If we battered the frog
surprise, one bite would sproing the spring straight thru an aging
senator's brain. Perfect for the older ones, already nudging the gates to
paradise. Open up fresh seats for patronage. Increase demand."

Popsicle Deprived

"Have you read these disturbing articles in The Star?" I ask. "Apparently
the reason the Evil Ones hate us is because they don't have root beer
flavoured Popsicles or Martha Stewart sheets. If we began by sharing our
cutting edge snack foods, we could turn this whole terrorism thing around."

"Put that on paper," says the dealer. "I'm sure I can get a senator to
suggest it. I've heard crazier things."

Haven't we all?