The Lunch Report: My Kingdom for a Saltine

Rarely is the Editor in Chief requested to cover a specific topic, but a number of you have questioned the significance and symbolism of the saltine cracker in The Lunch Report. Together with despair and redemption, the saltine is a recurring theme in TLR. So, because you asked, today I share the story of the saltine.

As a child, I developed a special relationship with saltines. Born with a fragile constitution, I was often subjected to a recovery regime consisting of time home from school, my favorite books, abundant maternal attention, flat ginger ale, and saltines.

For years, the saltine remained as emotionally charged for me as the madeleine was for Proust. Yet by college I had learned to look down on saltines. By the time I passed the bar, it had been years since I’d sunk my teeth into a dry salty wafer. By then, I was too sophisticated to be caught ripping open plastic packets and nibbling on saltines.

As I look back over the years though, I realize the saltine was always there, albeit in disguised forms. In Paris it was the crust of the bread I craved. In England, plain toast filled the void. On safari in Africa I developed a hankering for dry rusks.

Although I took basic health precautions when traveling (including anti-malarial medication that left me with visions of tie-dyed kudu salsa-dancing while vervet monkeys sipped scotch nearby),* I wasn’t too fussed about water or food. I horrified one travel buddy in Harare by purchasing an apple on the street and eating it after only a cursory rubdown (I wanted to wash it properly, but his criticism of my purchasing street fruit prompted me to defy his cautions). Sure, I suffered a bit, but 3 pounds later and 2 doses of high octane antibiotics, I was fine.

In 2000, I embarked on my fifth safari. Neither I nor any part of my delicate intestinal system was prepared for whatever was lurking in the tap water at a certain high-end safari camp in the Sabi Sand Reserve in South Africa. Although I had stuck to bottled water, I accidentally used tap water when brushing my teeth.

Upon returning to Jo’burg, my temporary home then, I noticed nothing. This could be because I was suffering so acutely from tick bite fever that my entire focus was on the crippling pain in my joints, which eventually made walking difficult. Another course of antibiotics, a few days of dizzy spells and vomiting and the fever was extinguished and the pain in my joints gone.

The tick bite episode had distracted me enough that when I returned to the United States, I didn’t immediately realize that I had brought home a friend with me, an intestinal parasite. He had as much difficulty with the repatriation process as I did (of course it would be a "he"—“he” and conflict often go together).

I enlisted one of the best infectious disease specialists in NYC to kill my parasite. The doctor explained that his prescribed treatment worked in 80-90% of cases. I have always wanted to be in the top percentile, and, once again, I was. When it comes down to it, they don't know their African parasites in NYC like they do in London or Jo’burg, and the antibiotics available here are downright lame.

American medicine had let me down, so I was left to my own to figure out things that both my parasite and I could eat. We had a tough time negotiating a resolution at first. I got thinner and weaker in the struggle as he made it clear that red wine, Reese’s cups (my sole source of protein throughout law school) and other cornerstones of my diet were no longer on the menu.

And then, purely by chance, I reached deep into my past and pulled out some saltines. Finally, we had reached a digestive détente.

We were all fine in the end. The Park Avenue doctor, who of course accepted no form of insurance, was paid handsomely for not curing me. My parasite came to love pinot grigio and saltines and today even allows me the occasional fried goody or piece of meat in gratitude. And I remain deeply indebted to the thousands of saltines that have helped me arbitrate a successful cohabitation arrangement with my parasite (who seems to sleep more peacefully every year).

So, in their honor, today I had a variety of saltine preparations for lunch:

*Saltines with olive oil and sundried tomatoes for an amuse bouche
*Saltines with gruyere cheese and marmite for my main course
*Saltines with grapes, strawberries and whipped cream for dessert


Notes
*According to wafer lore, saltines originated in 1876 in Missouri. Although the word “saltine” was originally a registered trademark of Nabisco, Nabisco lost its protection and today “saltine” refers generically to various brands of soda crackers.

*Although no longer as frequently prescribed, Mefloquine has historically been prescribed as an anti-malarial. First developed during the Vietnam War for American troops, Mefloquine (marketed as “Lariam”) boasts many side effects, including hallucinations.